


Shred of Blue

by skdunning



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anders is a Jackhole, Angry too, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Don't Judge it's therapy for me, F/M, I swear there's a plot in this diatribe somewhere!, I was sick when I wrote most of this, Multi, Other, the warden commander has no moral compass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skdunning/pseuds/skdunning
Summary: A Warden's path takes many forms, but the destination is always the same. We descend into the deep, to the roads that even our Dwarven brethren have long abandoned.  When my Calling came, I was relieved, truth be told. I am responsible for many things. Perhaps in death I could find forgiveness.Why is it then that I was found at Adamant Fortress with no memory of how I arrived there? How is it that the Calling that plagued me for so long has simply vanished? I was ready to die, to atone. How do I live, knowing I will have to face it all over again?





	1. Gone The Wolf

# Shred of Blue

### Chapter One _Gone the Wolf_

I stirred, joints stiff, pain seizing my shoulder, still feeling the ghost of the lightning bolt that caught me off guard a decade prior. My thoughts were bound in fog and shadow. I reached out for the assurance of my sword, and grappled at the ground.

The earth was less dirt and more silt. A sliver of quartz or volcanic arum embedded into my palm. The sharp pain shifted my focus. I became acutely aware my other extremities weren't responding.

"Whoa, friend." A disembodied voice cut through the silence. A firm hand pinned me to the silt. "Small steps first yeah?"

There was pressure keeping my eyes closed. The weight of cheap linen scratched at my attempt to open my eyelids. My heart jumped, the surge of adrenaline burned my blood. An involuntary cry scraped my throat on its escape, and the dry, unfamiliar sound echoed in my ears.

The voice was back. "You've been through the void and back, Warden. Concentrate on breathing. In. Out. In. And. That's right. That's better."

I smelled the taint. My taint. The odor of mottled blood that was off, abnormal, but not unfamiliar. I found comfort in that. Battlewounds were constant friends. And the song of the taint...

The song. The wolf that stalked the corners of my mind, the Calling that bled death and monsters into my fevered nightmares... It was gone. "Where?" I croaked. 

"And we have a word. At least, that resembled a word. Words are a good sign." A hand slipped into mine and squeezed. "Your turn. Squeeze back."

Processing the command took some patience. The effort stalled my breathing, as if the muscles in my hand were operated by the same nerves that ran my lungs.

"Well, that was two steps away from being almost fine."

It wasn't going to do. The ability to communicate was mandatory, and I identified an urgency in his tone. I worked my jaw. Forced by sheer willpower, saliva formed to lubricate my tongue and I tasted the dregs of elfroot, embrium, blood lotus. I tried words again, strained over parched lips. "Why can't I see?"

"There we go! Coherence," he said. His accent was Fereldan, and carried the weight of experience and cynicism in his tone. "You can't see because there is a bandage over your eyes. It was a precautionary measure. You were attacked by a rage demon, I think. Do you remember?"

A demon? Not darkspawn? "No."

"Ah. Okay. We'll work around that."

A different voice breached the perimeter of my hearing. "Stitches, can we move her yet? Krem says the area is hot. We need your sword."

"Buy us a moment, yeah?" he barked. "She's been comatose for days."

"And she chose now to come to? Her timing sucks."

More adrenaline released in my blood. My heartbeat, though faster, was steadier. My thoughts sharpened, reaching for clarity. If there was a battle coming, I needed to get my ass moving. There was enough saliva in my mouth now to swallow. My voice began to sound familiar. "If I squeeze your fingers, can I get this bandage off?"

"And negotiation. Another promising sign." Stitches gripped my hand again. "Warden, I think you might just live. Your turn."

It was a more coordinated effort. I tightened my grip, breathed, and thought about food, simultaneously. "So about that bandage?" I asked when he tugged his hand away.

"Yes, that was much better. A deal is a deal." The pressure against my eyes relaxed as he spoke. "But take it slow. The sun is bright and it's going to hurt."

I breathed and jerked my head in a graceless nod. "Just do it." I braced, preparing.

"You like it rough, eh? Good to know. Let's see what we've got. One. Two."

Pain. Pain. And my eyes hadn't opened yet.

He whistled. "Dalish! You out there?"

A decidedly female, heavily accented lower Fereldan voice called back, though I couldn't make out the response. I breathed and tried fluttering my eyelids. Pain. _Suck it up, girl,_ I told myself. _People are sticking their necks out for you._

My eyes opened to solid slits, lashes filtering the setting around me. We were in a stand of sage and Burning Sea shrub-trees. Everything was tinted dusty red, and the distant smell of sulfur...Adamant? Was I at Adamant Fortress?

"I'm not a mage, Stitches."

"I know, Dalish," he said. Sarcasm twisted the meaning of his words. I could make out his silhouette against the sun. "But you know some elvhen tricks. She's an elf."

Her shadow was slender and spindly, and her aura crackled with energy. She held up a tiny palm and whispered something that tugged familiar at my soul the way the old elvhen burial grounds did. Gold shimmered in my vision and when she dropped her palm, I felt new again and my eyes were fully open.

"That's the best I could do," she said. "A mage could do better."

"Someday, you'll have to teach me that trick, Dalish," he replied.

Stitches's image sharpened. I met his dark eyes. He was my kind of handsome, which meant two things. The first, either my Calling was over or it wasn't a true Calling to begin with, because handsome wasn't something one noticed when one is drenched with dying in the Deep Roads. The second, some parts of me were working faster than the other parts, embarrassing once I realized I was in my small clothes. I switched my focus to the ache that consumed me whole, driving my hormones underground. "Did you get the name of the halla that trampled me?" I asked.

His mouth stretched to a half-smile. "And that was something akin to humor I think. Excellent."

"I've always been a quick healer." I rolled up, nice and slow, into a sit, joints popping with my movement. The song was gone, the pain almost gone. "I guess you're right. I will live after all."

Shouts circled around us and Stitches half-turned from me at the same time my blood tugged. "What are we up against?" Stitches called out.

Whispers coated my mind, giving me strong feedback. Four genlocks, two hurlocks. I touched his shoulder. "Six. Two fore, three on my right, and one--correction two on my left."

Stitches pulled a sword free of the scabbard at his belt. "It's useful, having a warden when there's darkspawn around. Stay put. We'll shut this down quick."

He was telling, not asking. The command was implicit. He did not trust I had recovered enough to fight with his people, marking me as a hindrance or a liability. His command added a new layer of concern to the knot in my gut. Just what had I survived?

The darkspawn drew closer, setting my blood on fire, and the Whispers of their dark, unnatural language sparked images in my mind. Despite Stitches's reservations, I had to join the fight. The taint within me left me no choice. I sucked in a breath of kiln dry air to fuel my voice. "There's more on the way!"

"Thanks, Warden!" I heard someone shout in a deep but irreverent timbre that reminded me of the Rock Knockers from Kal Sharok.

I spied my gear laced in the spindles of a Burning Sands shrub to my right and I cursed. There wasn't time to suit up. It wasn't the first time I had to fight the darkspawn in my small clothes. I grabbed my blades and scrambled to my feet, feeling a bandage tear loose beneath my breast with a sharp pain. "Flames," I swore.

Another breath brought me back to my game. I launched at a hurlock, dispatching him with a quick slice to its throat, and spun to counter the jagged thrust of a re-purposed Dwarven ax. The reforged steel shattered at the hilt and splintered through the weakened blood-groove. The genlock stumbled, off balance. Another turn and I ended him quick.

I couldn't remember what I had endured, but it seemed a long, miserable while since the fight felt righteous. Each parry, each thrust liberated me that much more from the shackle of my recent and forgotten past.

The whispers changed their tune. I scanned the battlefield for my benefactors. A lad with scalp shorn hair in heavy armor was the closest engaged, holding his own in a storm of genlocks and arrows. The technique looked modified from that taught to the standing army of Tevinter. "Oy, you got a way to divert your people?" I shouted as I took up his left flank and eased his burden.

"You know something we don't?" he replied mid thrust.

I dropped another genlock, giving us breathing room. "Yeah. Darkspawn swarm in daylight for two reasons. The second is explosives."

"Good to know," he said. With a small, silver whistle that was attached to a sturdy, leather cord around his neck, he sounded an alert. "Follow me."

I did, and we redrew at top speed from our exposed field to regroup at what appeared to be a pre-determined fall-back point. Stitches scowled at the sight of me. "Throw my hard work out the window why don't you."

"I'm grateful Stitches, but the taint in my blood is a driving force, and I'm not going to sit idle while people fight my battles."

The Tevinter-trained lad silenced us both. "Let her be, Stitches. She's the darkspawn expert and we're fighting darkspawn. She has actionable intel--"

Before he finished his admonition, a fiery explosion cut him off. I peered out from behind our rocky berm, swearing. "Sod it! There went my gear."

The site that moments before had served as my sickbed was now a smoking crater.

Stitches raised an eyebrow. "And strategy! I stand corrected. You're right as rain."

The dwarf in their midst tossed a grenade to a shadowy elf, and pulled another from his pouch. Three measured heartbeats later, they threw in unison. Erupting on impact, the grenades provided a layer of smokey, acidic haze between us and the advancing horde.

"Sod it," I swore again, feeling the tangle of tainted soulless bodies advancing. I popped tension from my neck and breathed deep, ignoring the putrid bite of sulfur in the air. The Mage-Templar conflict left me leery of using magic in front of strangers, but my job as a warden was first to protect, and we were about to be overrun. I whispered. Fire.

A firestorm erupted in the chemical chaos of the haze. White hot flames pulsed around the orange glow. "What the--" Stitches scrambled backwards, the Tevinter stared, but not at me. The collective shock was tossed at Dalish.

"For the last time, I'm not a mage!" Dalish paled. Her angled-eyes widened and danced like a cornered wyvern.

I focused on the darkspawn. Their presence evaporated till all trace was gone when the white-fire died out. I closed my eyes and counted down from ten as mana found its way back into my reserves, the lull leaving me feel suspended in mud. "That stopped them," I said. "We're clear for now. Those bastards rarely have a back-up plan."

The weight of Dalish's gaze burned into the back of my ears, followed by the confused looks of the others. I faced them and prepared to hold my ground. "You did that?" the dark elf said, her Orlesian-stained accent thick with the staccato beats of one who rarely spoke.

I didn't see the value of lying. "I did."

"How?" the Tevinter asked. "You wield blades like a bloody pirate. We didn't find a staff on you."

"Did you find my short-bow?" The light-draw weight I used primarily for hunting small game was probably a pile of splinters pressed into the crater of the darkspawn's explosion. My heart skipped a beat with panic; my fingers grasped at the cord around my neck, and I found relief that my amulet was still there. I climbed up over the berm to stand on the rocks and survey the damage. I still had yet to get my bearings. 

"You're a mage?"

The word hung in the stillness of the dry air like starched linen on a laundry-line, potential without purpose or direction. Either they were reserving judgment, or they truly didn't give a ghast's shit that I could summon a firestorm with a whisper. I shifted my weight, tossing them a half-smile over my shoulder. "I am a warden," I replied.

They exchanged glances, all a tough read, except for Dalish, who smirked. "I'm not a mage either," she said.

Stitches snickered. The others shrugged. As if they saw no threat in magic, only in how it was used. As relieved as that should have made me, I could still see doubt, wariness, suspicion in their folded arms.

Shards of fractured memories tore at my thoughts, all tainted with the song of the calling. A rush of pain constricted my lungs when I caught sight of Adamant on the horizon. The once proud fortress that stood so many quiet vigils was a giant pile of rubble and smoke, and near indiscernible to the rest of the foreboding landscape. 

I knew of nothing short of a vengeful god that could render such a structure to its guts. Uneasiness grew as the last embers of my wildfire died out. Without nearby darkspawn to keep my blood pumping, adrenaline fled, and I doubled-over involuntarily to pant at my knees in attempt to restore a solid rhythm in my thready heartbeat. 

"Well, I suppose it couldn't last forever," Stitches said as he scrambled up to catch me. "I diagnose you as mortal."

Something within my soul gave me permission to black out. I struggled against the idea until it was no longer a strong suggestion, but a direct order.


	2. Alive

### Chapter Two _Alive_

I woke with dying light of dusk, dry and cool, rested for what felt like the first time in an age. I struggled to remember when I last woke without night-sweats. I almost missed the humming that saturated my mind with paranoia and an unforgiving nausea. Without the crippling fear that I was losing myself, I found it hard to trust my new reality.

My stomach growled. Appetite, too, was a forgotten sensation. I sat up carefully, feeling the tug of stitches knitting flesh together the length of my abdomen. During my blackout, the powers that be had moved me indoors. I was in a bed, in Thedas's smallest room. A small shelf was mounted into the wall right at headboard height, only large enough for a candle and a polished brass mirror. At least there was a window, recessed in the opposing wall not two steps away. The ledge was sufficient enough to sit on for a small frame like mine, but humans would be hard-pressed to find any comfort in it.

At least the room was free of dust and the bed-sheets clean, crisp with the smell of lavender and citrus, 

My clothes were unfamiliar and ill-fitting, much too large for my shrinking stature. A frivolous thought warmed my cheeks as I rolled the sleeves back to my elbows. Someone had dressed me. Stitches was the most likely to have done so, since he appeared to be the one taking care of me. The delight at the idea of his hands on my bare skin spiked my blood pressure. I shook my head and cracked open the window to breathe in the outside chill, fingering my amulet as an idle fidget. The city below I recognized as an outpost two days out from Adamant. I didn't care how I got there; I was heady with hormones and hunger, overwhelmed with just being alive, and adjustment was slow.

A rap on the door announced the Tevene soldier. "Warden, it's good to see you awake," he said with the soldier's bearing, all facts and little emotion.

"I've been dying for so long, I forgot what it feels like to be among the living." I turned from the window to make eye contact. "I thank you. You and your team. For all that you did."

He raised an eyebrow. "You have some memory back I take it?"

I shook my head. "No. I have fragments of diseased, fevered recollection...Nothing that makes sense. But. I am aware enough to know that whatever it was that happened at Adamant was seriously fucked up and that the risk your team took on my behalf must have been considerable."

He stepped into the pale light that streamed through my window, and I noticed what was missing from the anatomy of his throat. He caught my assessment, tilting his head in response to the question I didn't ask.

I shrugged. It was all we needed to say.

"Cremisius Aclassi," he said, offering a handshake. "Everyone calls me Krem. You're in the company of the Bull's Chargers."

His grip on my wrist was firm. I lingered in the gesture, appreciating the feel of physical contact. "Sidona Andras," I said, dropping my hand finally and returning to my window. Sorrow lined my next words. "Former Commander of the Ferelden Order of the Grey."

"Former?"

I nodded, wrestling with the impact of the idea. "I abandoned my post did I not? What other conclusion should I draw? What happened at Adamant?"

"I must say, Warden, you are not entirely what I was expecting."

I tossed him a quick glance. His skirting my question was intentional. "That bad, eh?"

"Ordinarily the questions are different. Where am I? Why am I here? Who dressed me?" Krem stepped closer. "Instead you go straight for the jugular."

"It's the only question I don't have an answer for," I said. I pointed out the window to the chantry at the end of the road. "We're in Val d'Hiver, the last main city on the Southern Road before the wastelands that lead to the Western Approach. That pole next to the chantry doors is used to mark the levels of the southern permafrost during storms and changing seasons. The wall beyond to stave off swarming darkspawn. I have bruising on my arms where straps secured me to a stretcher. Who dressed me isn't important; I imagine each of your teammates has seen me naked at least once. Stitches seems the most likely culprit, though, you may have all agreed to say Dalish did it, out of respect for any sensibilities you feared I might have."

"Wow." Krem folded his arms. "Jugular it is then. An ancient darkspawn magister named Corypheus can mimic the Calling. Every warden in the southern half of Thedas has been affected by this calling. Warden Commander Clarel went to a Tevene extremist group called the Venatori and they hatched this scheme to raise a demon army to seek out and destroy the remaining old gods in the Deep Roads to prevent further blights. The Venatori, of course, lied and your order fell for it."

A stiffness rose in my throat and made it hard to swallow. I frowned. Jagged fragments of memory sliced through the dull ache behind my eyes. The tale was unexpected, and not at all familiar. "A demon army? Clarel?" The chantry bells rang for sunset service, a sound that usually brought me comfort, but did little to dispel the weight in my gut. "Fenedhis lasa! The blood price for that kind of magic alone could..."

I heard him sigh. "Yes. It did."

Tears slid unchecked from my eyes. I knew. Some wardens wouldn't even question the order, with sacrifice the hallmark of our beliefs. If their callings had been as intense as mine...Could mine had been so blinding that even I--? "And I...You think I was a part of that?"

He didn't answer.

I wiped the dampness from my cheeks and shook my head to clear my thoughts. My knowledge of ancient magics was only extensive to a point, and I only knew a handful of blood magic rituals, neither of which I had ever performed or should result in a demon summoning. It didn't make sense that I would have been a willing participant in the scheme. Either I was a puppet, or my presence at Adamant was to...stop Clarel? Or rescue my team?

No. None of my team was there. None of them would have been ensnared in such a ridiculous plan. Would they?

My memories before the Calling came in sharper. I was in the Deep Roads, checking in with my Legion of the Dead contacts. A runner from the surface brought me a message from Orlais. The merchants hugging the gate to Orzammar where I restocked had some chilling news about the green scar in the sky, and the hairy-eyeball armor that swarmed Ferelden and templars turned into a different kind of diseased monsters. 

After that, things were fuzzy. 

"Please tell Stitches thank you. I owe him a life debt, it would seem. Well, your whole team." I shifted to watch the pedestrians on the walk below my window, numb, processing. 

"Hey, you're not going to do something foolish are you?" Krem said, concern evident in his voice. A step closer and he was within arms reach. 

"What? No. I'm not going to kill myself, Krem." He couldn't know me, but the scene outside my window was more than enough incentive for keeping up with the fight. Despite the chaos, lovers still walked hand in hand, sneaking forbidden kisses in the shadows. Children eager for sweets tugged at reluctant mothers. Peace thrived in this inconsequential city of nowhere , at least at its surface. "Shall we address the ferret in the room? Who are you bringing me to? The dread Inquisitor, I presume?"

He laughed. "She's not that bad. And just so we're clear, you're not a prisoner."

"Really?" I replayed his tone. The stress of his syllables fell on _clear_ and _not,_ and _prisoner_ was thick. "But you'd prefer that I remain your guest until the Inquisition is satisfied with an interrogation?"

"Uh..." His stoic exterior cracked.

I smiled to set him at ease again. "I'm okay with that. I'd like answers too. I just have one tiny request."

"Sure, if we can--"

"I desperately need food." My stomach gripped tighter as I thought of available meals a humble inn might serve. Stews, breads, and ale. Experience would advise to take it easy, light. But my gut was screaming, holding my thoughts and blood pressure hostage. 

He laughed and offered his arm. "We've got a head-start on you, Warden. Think you can catch up?"

"Does a bear shyte?" My snort was far from lady-like, but I curtsied and slipped my arm through his.


	3. The Haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Content and Flashbacks.

### Chapter Three _The Haunting_

I had a full stomach and a half-cask of ale and the company reminded me of my old team back at Amaranthine, before things went to shit. The jabs, mocked sullen looks, laughter and stories...and suddenly moisture crept into my eyes as Anders's betrayal reached out from the bank of my memories. I took a quick swig of ale to chase the lump in my throat down, struggling once again to reconcile the Anders I recruited to the Anders responsible for the Grand Cleric's murder in Kirkwall. Though quick to violence, the man was incapable of a serious thought when I knew him. He was a harvester of virtues, not the destroyer of hope.

Not that I had any virtue left by the time we met. Anders found me alone on the widow's walk of Vigil's Keep after we quelled the war between the Architect and the Mother. The quiet was unsettling, I was sick for home and of heartache. I never made good decisions when the melancholy took me, in the low after the rush of adrenaline. I was hiding from vices and Anders knew it.

Six months of shameless flirtation I never intended on taking anywhere, but he backed me into the railing with a kiss and wandering hands too determined to block. He was too sodding convenient. His too blond hair and his too pale skin only reminded me of who he wasn't, and I retreated though he left me nowhere to go. "Anders, there's...someone..." _It's not you I want._

He kissed me anyway, somehow sensing the bad decision within me that I was trying so hard to ignore. The heat stirred passions I had long shelved. I couldn't find enough voice to tell him no, until it was a pair of trousers down around my ankles and an iron railing raking my back too late. 

It was just sex; the cure and the curse for the both of us. He spoke about me like I was a lyrium high, the scent of my hair made him heady. The curve of my waist made him bothered. My focus on everything but him drove him crazy.

He was teaching me a lesson. He was charming, sexy as the void, and flamed was I for ignoring him.

"I couldn't figure you out for the longest time. Was it girls you wanted? Dwarves? Elves? But then I realized. You like the violence. The danger," he whispered after one last shivering grunt. His legs still twitched against me and he steadied himself against the railing as I sidestepped him. "That's why you became a Warden. You need to feel on the edge of death everyday. That's when you feel the most alive. Like me. I think we belong together, you and I."

"No." I denied his assessment, wanting him to be wrong about me. Cinching in my belt, I still burned from an unsatisfied want and angry I hadn't walked away. "You play games with people and their emotions like spoiled rich shits do. You're too self absorbed in your own martyrdom to care about anyone but you. And this? This won't ever happen again. I'm your commander, not your whore."

His eyes flashed with anger and jealousy, and he gripped my shoulders hard enough to mark me. "I bet you wouldn't say that to that brooding ass who tried to kill you. Because you're attracted to the damage. You have a death wish. Admit it."

He was jealous? Of _Nathaniel Howe?_ Jealousy was a dangerous emotion, and one that implied Anders had claimed me as his possession. I threw the only weapon I had at him, the only man he couldn't compete with because he wasn't a man, an intentionally ridiculous lie to kill any shred of hope that I could allow the tryst to become a regular event. "You know me that well do you? Maybe it's Justice. Ever think about that?"

A knife rattled against a pewter plate. I jerked.

"Warden? You're looking a little flushed. You okay in there?" Krem asked.

I looked up to the present faces at the present table, shelving my past with a mental shove. "Oh, sure. Just adjusting to a full stomach. I can't remember the last time I had a complete meal."

Rocky laughed. "You call that a complete meal? I say it was more like five."

I shrugged. "A warden's appetite is never sated."

"You must be a lion in bed," he quipped.

Krem groaned. "Forgive him, Warden. It's a Dwarven thing."

"I learned it from Bull," the dwarf said. "So actually it's a Qunari thing."

The blame and banter continued. I met Stitch's dark gaze from across the table and the old fire kickstarted my heartbeat. He noticed, issuing a silent challenge with a raised eyebrow. I took another drink. The night was far from over, and I was confident the offer would expire long before the drinks would.

And that was fine by me. The last thing I needed was an awkward morning after yet another disastrous hormone induced decision.

One thing I could say about the Chargers; they could drink, though they still had miles to go stacked against my wardens. Our constitutions and tolerances often shut down taverns when we were on benders. The alcohol was already working from my system when I climbed the stairs of the inn to my room, alone, far from drunk and barely tipsy. I wasn't ready to sleep, I had slept too much already. I shut Thedas away from the relative solitude of my room and concentrated on my obligations. 

With my gear pulverized, along with my purse, I would have to scrounge up some coin to help offset the Chargers' cost of...me. And a glance at my swords spoke volumes of the neglect I had inflicted upon them during my disease. First thing in the morning, I needed to find a whetstone and a dry rag. 

Wade would have been very cross with me. Herren would have taken great pleasure in telling me so. 

I took off my borrowed tunic, brushing against a bandage with a grunt. I debated the ethics of calling upon Stitches to check it out. I twisted to get a better look at it in the polished brass on the shelf. Sucking in a breath, I peeled the patch of linen back. An expertly stitched pucker of tissue stretched the small length of my abdomen beneath my right breast. The smell of elfroot and embrium clung to the tainted blood. To heal it now with magic seemed like a waste of Stitch's efforts.

A heartbeat turned into several. Finally, I decided. I twitched my fingers, summoning the wisps of mana required. Energy crackled across the fault in my skin and the stinging traveled through to my brain. The desire to itch became intense, I tried to breathe through the worst of it. Then, at the edge of the spell, I whispered the words, choosing regeneration over straight healing. 

_You need the danger, the pain,_ Anders whispered. _Admit that you feel more alive with me._

I had pushed Anders away like I had everyone else, so convinced he didn't care, that I was just another in a long line of convenient conquests. It was entirely possible he was trying to be the man he thought I wanted. Though something in me refused to accept that. He was always too quick with the perfect word to say. 

Making him stay would have been equally cruel. I couldn't forgive him, I didn't love him, and I wouldn't love him, ever, because of who he wasn't. My heart still belonged to--

A knock at my door. I reached instinctively for my sword, but sense kicked me and I grabbed the tunic instead, wrapping it about my chest like a bandage, a quick fix.

I cracked the door open to Stitches's dark shadow and my breath lost some power. His voice was business, though the light in his hazel eyes said something else. "Should I check that bandage now, or wait till morning?"

I chewed my lower lip, a show of consideration. I allowed the door to swing open further, showing I was half disrobed already. "Your call, though I'm sure it's fine. I know an elvhen trick or two of my own." I said, summoning a wisp of energy as proof to my fingers. I pushed the choice back on him. We both knew what would happen if he crossed the threshold.

The wisp dissipated. Stitches gave me a humorless smile and leaned against the door jamb. "And you? Are you...fine?"

"Not in the slightest, but I'm alone." I didn't care how desperate that sounded. I dropped the tunic and turned, retreating into the room. I heard the door close behind me with a click. Stitches's warmth radiated, heating the tiny space within a heartbeat.

I breathed. This was happening. A dull ache shivered in my core. No need to play coy; he'd already seen me naked. I tugged at my belt and my trouse dropped to the floor. A layer of warmth crawled across the chill of my bare skin and it felt amazing. _You need the danger, Anders whispered._ I climbed onto my bed. 

Stitches stood arms folded at the foot of the bed, his dark skin a shade darker with either want or frustration. "Boldness. Not something I've seen in recently recovered comatose patients. Just so we're clear. What is this exactly?"

Reservations were something I couldn't fault. I shrugged before rolling onto my stomach. "It doesn't have to be anything. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer it wasn't anything. You don't mind being used do you? There's still time to walk away, no bruised feelings."

Anticipation bloomed in my chest as familiar sounds of buckles and weighted leather sliding off of skin echoed against the walls. The mattress gave way, shifting and complaining against added weight. Stitches straddled me, his broad, bare legs pressed against my thighs. A pair of strong, calloused hands pushed heat into my spine and moved up my back to the base of my neck. 

The massage was deep and rough, but far from clumsy. His hands were practiced and his timing impeccable. Before I could become bored or complacent, Stitches slipped an arm around my abdomen and lift me to my knees, my back arched against his chest. His muscular shape engulfed me like a shell. He smelled of spiced ale and blood lotus. I grabbed the headboard to catch my balance and he employed his free hand to explore the sensitive flesh between my thighs.

_You need the danger,_ Anders haunted my thoughts. I closed my eyes to shut out the memories. "Just fuck me," I whispered. 


	4. Lie to Me

### Chapter Four _Lie to Me_

We collapsed together, spent, a slop of arms and legs. When he caught his breath, he traced the scar where his stitches had been. "Why not heal the scar, too? Isn't that the first sort of spell they taught mages at the towers?"

He was lingering and my old self-hate was creeping back. "You assume I came from the circle." I twisted to relieve pressure on my elbow.

"You weren't born a Warden," he said icily.

"No, I was born Dalish."

"Dalish thought you might have been captured early by templars. She said your vallaslin was incomplete."

"It's not, but the explanation behind it--Well, it's a long story, the path that brought me to Grey Warden."

He eyed me, assessing, his thumb brushing against my nipple absent of purpose. "And the scar?"

"A souvenir," I said finally. I found pleasure in his touch, still, though habit told me it wouldn't last. _Don't pick a fight. Don't hate him. Say something charming._ "Something of you I can take with me to the Deep Roads, when it's time. Again."

He sat up, his hand sliding down the length of my body, and shook his head. "You are beyond broken."

I stifled a yawn and quelled the ache that begged for a second round. "You don't have to go." It was a feeble gesture.

Past experience or doubt clouded the look he shot me. "No offense," he said, "but I don't cuddle. And I'd really rather not give my crew any reason to assume I bed _all_ my patients."

I hummed, watching him dress and feeling less urgent about undressing him again. "Lie to me," I said, the need to rid myself of guilt rising to choke my heart. 

"About what?" He cinched in his belt and reached for his leathers.

"I don't know. Something normal or something special. Try a line, any line. Just as long as there's no truth involved."

He laughed, short but genuine, the mark of a scalding blush forthright upon his cheeks. "We will never, ever fuck again."

I threw my pillow at him. He threw it right back and winked. He took the heat with him when the door closed. Looping my amulet between my fingers, I watched the moonlight shift against the wooden floor for a long blissful while before a sound sleep of satisfaction overcame me.


	5. The Nightingale's Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And introducing: A vague plot. Because it needs to go somewhere...

### Chapter Five _The Nightingale's Questions_

I, apparently, summoned the curiosity of the Inquisition's spymaster, the former Left Hand of the Divine. The Bull's Chargers escorted me to a small sentry outpost skirting the southern stretch of the Dirth, a trip that added three days unplanned travel to their next assignment. 

I did not envy Leliana. Extracting secrets from people who do not wish to reveal them was sometimes an indelicate necessity. The severe look in her eyes told me she was more than capable, a far cry from the red-head of Oghren's tales. The girl of those reports had fire and faith, but the shadow in her was shackled.

Strange, that some change so much, and others so little. I wondered how much truth I could accurately remember of her. When I first arrived at Vigil's Keep the decade ago, I drowned in the disarray of paperwork that flooded my office. Seneschal Varel was apologetic, embarrassed at the state of things. "My former lord kept a great many things from his staff here," he said with a grimace. "I have been trying to keep this place running as smoothly as possible, between news of my Lord's death and our reassignment to the order. Sadly, records were not a priority, and some things...I just can't stomach reading."

"It's fine, Seneschal. I handle it."

"Are you sure Commander?"

"Yeah, it'll be therapy. Give me something I can focus on when I have trouble sleeping."

His tone betrayed a small trace of relief. "I'll have the staff make sure there's a steady supply of candles then."

I laughed. "That sounds like a solid plan." 

Many a late night I spent scouring through cryptic missives, searching for familiar names while simultaneously praying I wouldn't find them. Rendon Howe was a man of violent, jealous ambition, and his collected intelligence spoke volumes of his patient obsession with power. A bastard of Maric's was handed over to the chantry, but still untouchable under the meddling protection of Arl Eamon and the warden named Duncan. Fergus Cousland married a Montilyet from Antiva, and the Crows refused to entertain any contract against the Couslands as a result. Vaughn Kendall, despite the brutality he was known for, was a potential match for Delilah, and a grandchild would provide the means to exert control over the Arling of Denerim, especially if the Kendalls all met with untimely fates.

Howe's penchant for conspiracy ran much deeper than anyone gave him credit for. 

Most troubling were the detailed reports of Warden troop movements within Ferelden, reports that were kept long before the blight began and centered around Duncan. And after the massacre at Ostagar, though much more fragmented, some reports of Hero's companions. A notation next to Leliana's name; contact Marjolaine. Oghren, drunk as usual, gave me the hazy and unlikely details of a certain confrontation made in Denerim...as well as his plan to roast a certain pet nug...

Leliana spent a long while studying me with a calculating gaze. "What do you remember?" 

"Nothing." I huffed, turning from Sister Nightingale's piercing violet eyes. "Correction. Fragments of less than nothing. I stepped out of the Deep Roads, felt the Calling drag me back, and the next I know, The Bull's Chargers are bringing me back from the void in the midst of a darkspawn shitstorm at Adamant fortress."

Her eyes shifted focus to the quill she held in her hand. "You know what happened?"

I nodded. "I got the summarized version."

"And nothing sparked your recollection? Not even a feeling?"

Hunger gnawed at my gut. My breakfast had worn off. I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore my discomfort, and toyed with my amulet. "I have my suspicions. But the calling though, I am sure, twisted a great many minds. So what I got are only theories and based entirely on the warped view I have of me."

"I'm willing to listen." Her violet eyes softened, and not just as a ploy to get my guard down. I could tell she had a soft spot for the Order of the Grey. She wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to absolve me of all my sins if indeed I was guilty of anything.

I probably had the Hero of Ferelden to thank for the Nightingale's patience.

"You already know more about me than I do, I suspect." I watched for a change in her demeanor. No tells broke her veneer of civility. Oghren had painted her as a romantic, but the woman before me was a product of unresolved pain. I could empathize. "I don't believe I was part of the mess at Adamant."

"No?"

"No. It doesn't make sense, does it? After the Inquisitor tumbles back out of the fade, the remaining wardens were standing, just as the fortress. So the Chargers come to dismantle it. Must be weeks later at least, yeah? And that's when they find me, unconscious? No, even diseased as I was, I don't think I was a part of Adamant."

Her head titled with curiosity. "So many of your brethren feel responsible."

"They may be." I scowled and bounced a leg, fending off my hunger. "But if so, it's their own fault. I'm guilty of a great many crimes, but none of them are Adamant."

"Really." Her quill scratched across her parchment with ease. "You condemn your family? These are your brothers and sisters--" 

"They may be wardens and we'd lay our lives down for each other in the deep roads without hesitations or the need for introductions, but make no mistake, Ostagar claimed my family," I said, cutting her short. Bitterness soured my heart. Ostagar took my family. And the archdemon my love. "The First Warden tasked me with building a new family. And that went so well, a spoiled, self-centered mage decided to become an abomination and blow up Kirkwall." 

Another band of words in silky ink spread across her parchment. "You recruited Anders?"

There was no judgment in her tone, but there should have been. "Yeah. That's on me. I had him transferred to the Free Marches not long after the Siege of Amaranthine. I'll accept responsibility for Kirkwall, if I'm pressed. No way in the void I would willingly have supported the demon army idea, especially not for that simpering harpy Commander Clarel."

"You knew Clarel? Tell me about her."

I nodded. "She was the whiniest bitch I ever met, and I'm not shedding any tears over her pyre."

I thought I saw a smile curl the corners of her mouth. "That's blunt."

I shrugged. "We have history. Back in '29, when the first signs of a rising blight caused Warden Commander Duncan to send out the call to gather...uh, do you want to know those events or can I skip it?"

"Alistair spoke fondly of Duncan," she mused. "The Hero never spoke of him to me."

"He was a good man, in his way, if a bit too obsessed with darkspawn. Riordan used to--" Pangs of remorse cracked my heartbeat. I remembered what the Calling had ripped from me. The details of Riordan's face. His dark, grizzled complexion, his hard confidence came crashing back to me in a flash flood. He was the one to calm me during those first fitful months of nightmare riddled slumber after my joining. He wound the locks of my hair between his fingers and call me Shy-gin, an endearment from his mother's people.

I longed to hear his voice, to feel the brush of his fingertips against mine, to spar with him until all that was left of us was breath and presence. I swallowed with difficulty, wondering if he thought of me in his last moments, if he whispered my name to the wind in hopes that a last kiss could somehow find me a thousand miles away. 

I pulled myself from drowning. "Clarel argued with Duncan. It couldn't be a true blight. What archdemon would rise in the uncharted wilds of the Hinterlands? Whine. Whine. Whine. Whine. She got my last nerve. I punched her. Broke her nose."

She shot me an amused, but dark look. 

"Clarel had it coming. Duncan wasn't thrilled with me but Riordan laughed. He--" I swallowed.

Sister Nightingale lowered her eyes, as if she knew she was intruding. "I met Riordan. He was an easy man to like. Were you...Close?"

A wall smacked my face. She knew Riordan? Of course, they would have met before the battle in Denerim. "He was my...mentor," I told the half-truth, feeling the pain of his loss as acutely as the first time. "So yeah, we were close enough."

"What happened after you punched Clarel?"

 _Things went to shit, that's what happened._ "Duncan set out for the Hinterlands, determined to prove a point. Clarel insisted I had attempted to murder her, and brought up charges that sparked an internal investigation into me. It was bullshit of course, because if I had tried to kill her, she'd've been dead. Riordan had to appease her though, she did outrank me at the time, and I was given a choice. I was asked to report to Weisshaupt or face some time in the Orlesian gaol." i pressed my hands together, a counter to the darkness blistering my gut. "I was stuck at Weisshaupt when news reached me of Ostagar." When news reached me that Riordan had volunteered for a reconnaissance mission. When news reached me that he was missing in action. 

I was at Weisshaupt when I received Riordan's contingency letter. I was at Weisshaupt when my heart died.

"And Clarel?"

I snorted. "Clarel was the sort of person you could count on to drone on and on about the legacy of the Wardens, about the thankless jobs we do selflessly. As if everyone who came to the order did so out of a sense of duty or honor. As if more than half our ranks wasn't comprised of rapists and murderers snatched from an executioner's rope. No. It was like a lie she had to sell herself on. Every conversation she ever started included her lofty ideals of vigilance and sacrifice and blah flaming blah. You couldn't get her to shut up once she got going. A real kill joy after a successful deep roads raid when everyone just wanted to eat, drink, and get laid."

"Do you think she resented that Loghain's troops held her up at the border?"

"Martyrs like her always take things personally. But Loghain wasn't the one that kept her at the border. She did that to herself. To all of us." I tapped a finger against the table. "Wardens are supposed to do whatever it takes to end blights. And she let a little thing like politics keep her at the border. Empress Celene had gifted her two hundred Chevaliers, but Clarel already had a joint force of two hundred wardens from all over Thedas. Do you know how many of Fereldan's troops were at the border crossing?"

She didn't react. 

"All of thirty people. Most of them were the Baintree Irregulars that were all born in the Tower age." My anger rose unchecked. I hated Clarel. "For all her whining, it would have been stronger strategy to leave the chevaliers to protect the border and take her two hundred wardens on a march to Ostagar, or even strait to the Denerim vault."

"I thought the goal was neutrality," she said. "That would have sparked a war."

"Yeah, that's just the sort of cheap answer I expect Clarel to shout to anyone who would listen. Remaining neutral only gets you so far. We're neutral during peacetime so keeping a standing army doesn't freak out local kings. To defeat a blight? All bets are off. If we have to take over a country and put a warden on the throne of Ferelden to get things done, that's what we do. It's easier to seek forgiveness than it is to beg for permission. You double-check the timeline. The Baintree Irregulars were sent to the border before Cailin called for the banns to report. Loghain intentionally disobeyed a direct order from his king long before it would ever have posed a threat of war."

"How do you know this?"

"That asshole traitor Rendon Howe left some damning correspondence at Vigil's Keep." The name left a bitter taste on my tongue. Among those documents were some papers detailing Riordan's torture, details I could recall with stunning clarity. "After the archdemon was slain, the first warden cleared me of attempted murder charges and sent me to Amaranthine. Because he learned he couldn't trust Clarel to do what was necessary. He needed someone to quell the unrest and deal with the lingering darkspawn threat, not to preach and hurl accusations at it."

Because in his mind, Clarel was more responsible for the deaths at Ostagar than Loghain was, or Cailen.

"So when Clarel reached out to you--"

"Even in my fevered, diseased state, I'd've been too pissed to play along. It was her inept command left my brothers dead at Ostagar. She never had my loyalty. At least, that's the anger I hold on to." I sniffed. Riordan's memory tried to soothe me, the brush of his finger against my cheek as he traced the patterns of my vallaslin... "The Calling flaming in my blood--If I had any control over my thoughts and actions, I would have turned right back around and headed strait for the deep trenches." Where I could finally join my love in death's embrace.

She sighed and sunk back into her seat, abandoning her quill and folding her arms. Her eyes stormed over and cast downward. "Thank you. I was hoping for answers but..."

Memories lashed out from the dark edges of my mind and my chest constricted. Air burned in my lungs with each angry breath I sucked in. This was too fucked up. Clarel, the bitch, had taken everything away from me. Everyone I loved. No. I pushed away as many brothers as I had lost. I needed to own that too. But if Ostagar hadn't gone the way it did...

Closing my eyes only conjured up ghosts. Riordan's stubble scratched my cheek. Warm Avvaar words with his almost Orlesian accent coated my ear like honey on cake. My hunger intensified. I needed a distraction. "Stitches said something about the Inquisitor facing a fear demon in the fade? He wouldn't tell me any more than that though." My stomach knotted with concern. If the rumor was true...

She looked crestfallen. "It's is not yet common knowledge because we don't want to risk a panic. She had to leave someone behind."

"Who?"

The shadow beneath her purple hood grew. "The Inquisitor was concerned about leaving Stroud with his tainted blood, fearing what repercussions that might have, physically in the fade. Hawke volunteered."

"Fenedhis." I stared at my hands. Stroud I knew. He was a good man. Honorable. He couldn't have been a part of Clarel's insane plan either. 

I didn't know Hawke, but I had worked briefly with her brother, which made her extended family. I was responsible for Anders. Which meant I was responsible for what happened in Kirkwall. Which meant there was a strong possibility that I was responsible for Meredeth, for Orsino, for Hawke. 

I needed the pain, the danger. I needed them because I needed redemption. I cleared my throat. "Is anyone mounting a rescue?"

"You think we can save her?" Her eyes rounded.

"You don't?"

"Walking physically in the fade started the blights to begin with," she hissed. "She's most likely dead. And you want to intentionally dive back in? For a dead woman?"

I pushed back. "Why not? If she is dead, we might be able to find enough corpse to have a pyre for her. That alone is worth the risk, don't you think?" 

"You make it sound like we could just--"

"Tears in the veil occur naturally, Sister. It's not unthinkable. And if anyone can survive being physically in the fade for any length of time, it's a mage."

"But you could waste resources even trying to find Hawke. The Fade is an infinite place--"

I stopped listening to her as a plan formed in my mind. There were some preventative measures I needed to take, a Dalish artifact or two to locate...a visit to the Black Emporium was also in order. After some thought, I interrupted Leliana's ongoing protest. "You of all people should recognize the ability of a single warden to claim victory against overwhelming odds. I seriously need to eat, but after that, do you have a way to get a message to Carver Hawke?"


	6. Flanked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content and flashbacks. Next chapter will get worse. The chapter after that will be better.

### Chapter Six _Flanked_

"Come on," Anders whispered. "I've got something to show you."

I snorted. I knew better than to follow, but I trailed after him anyway. The others had all gone off to the tavern. Anders led me to the chantry. "Anders, you hate it here. Too many templars."

"I know," he said, reaching out for my hand and gripping it with enough force I couldn't yank it back. "But trust me."

Famous last words. He smuggled us successfully passed praying sisters--not an easy feat considering how famous we were in Amaranthine by then--to the belfry ladder and corralled me up the rungs. When we reached the top, he magicked open the trap door and dropped it back into place when we were both through.

There was a ledge that overlooked the sacred flame and the whole of coastal city. The vista was impressive, but one I had already seen from the sentry post along the portcullis wall. "Okay, why are--"

His mouth pressed against mine, hot and urgent and inescapable. I twisted away and stumbled back. He followed with a look that was far too confident to carry the wounded shadow with any degree of seriousness. He had me right where he wanted me.

And I the fool walked right into his trap. Again. 

"Commander," he said. "Come on, you can't tell me you don't like the thrill. The forbidden tryst in the bell tower. Hidden in plain sight." He inched closer.

"This isn't going to happen." _Yes it is._ "We don't want this."

He grabbed my wrist and forced my hand to his groin. He was already bone-hard beneath the folds of his robe. "We don't?" He challenged.

I yanked my hand back, feeling the burn of injury stretch through my forearm. "You delight in tormenting me."

"No," he replied, suddenly serious. "I don't want this to be about torture and torment. Not today."

I stalled in cynicism. "Really?"

He shrugged, light dancing wildly in his eyes. "I didn't bring the right equipment for torment anyway."

"Ha, very funny." I tried to push passed him to raise the door.

He knocked me off balance as I squat, and I rolled gracelessly to the cold stone. He pinned me down with one arm across my chest and the bulk of his weight across my thigh. His free hand worked at the knot of my belt. "You really should consider wearing a robe, once in a while. Especially when we're in town.There are so many alcoves we could explore."

This was precisely why I never wore robes. It was already way too easy for me to make the worst decision possible. And the only time I ever wore a mage's habit was for one man, and one man alone. Anders yanked my trousers down and my bare ass pressed against the slick stone floor of the belfry. The only quip I could think of was "Fantastic, now my ass is covered in bird shit."

The idea amused him. But more telling than that was my attempt at humor confirmed he had me, dead to rights. If I struggled from there, it would be part of a game, making him work for every inch I willingly gave him.

"I wanted to make up for the other night," he whispered, running his too soft hand up my bare inner thigh. "We both said some heated things."

I pushed against him, a weak statement of principle. He kissed me again, targeting the space on my neck below my ear. "You're wrong about being just another conquest." His voice hummed against my skin. "Last time was about me, and that what was so wrong about it, That's why you were angry. I know that now. This time is all about you."

 _That's not why I was angry you pompous shit!_ I closed my eyes shutting away his image and pretended, not an easy feat with him prattling on about what he thought I needed. "Someone to take control. To relieve you of the burden of choice." he said.

He was deluded if he thought I was left without choice. If I hadn't already decided to use the convenience of him to resurrect the dead. "Shut your fucking trap, Anders." He was not short of talent, but his touch was too greedy, too hungry, and his hands too thin and soft. He didn't care, he couldn't care, I told myself, as the tiles burned a tattoo of shame across my lower back,

Riordan was a thoughtful creature born of shadows and strategy. Each seduction was a move in a chess game. Our love had been a stalemate, neither one of us forfeit to the other, but surrendering all the same. That I was an elf twenty years his junior never seemed to bother him. He was respectful of the power I held over his mercenary heart, oh so fucking gentle when I gave him my maidenhead. He had been a strict anchor when my inexperience and urgency of youth had threatened to become indelicate with convention. When I wore my first mage's robe, it was to tease him, so he would be more eager and impromptu when we passed a broom closet. We held no illusion that we would grow old together. We took our happilies where we could find them, as equals.

Anders, for once, did as he was told, whether out of necessity or courtesy. He stopped talking and starting breathing, heavy and base deep. The stubble of his chin helped sell the illusion, scratching about my mouth with his oppressive kisses. But his hands...

A voice wicked up the bellpull, and the idea of being caught brought the missing layer of danger I needed. Instead of scrambling, giggling and flushed like unseasoned teens, Anders wrapped us in a shield of silence, and doubled his efforts. 

Our shield blocked out most of the bell ringing, making the brass sound miles away instead of right above our heads. It was time for afternoon mass. When we finished, we'd have to sneak back out through more worshipers, a prospect I wasn't looking forward to.

 _Fuck it,_ I thought, giving myself permission to get lost in one last pleasurable pretense. _It still doesn't mean anything. And who would know?_

The horse shifted beneath me pulling me from my daydream. What came after was not something I wanted to relive anyhow.

"You're bleeding." Stitches pointed to my abdomen as he pulled up beside me. 

I frowned at him and looked down, sparking a snort of laughter followed by "made you look".

I giggled, and a wall that I raised around my heart so long ago shattered into pieces. There were more walls, but I gave myself permission to like Stitches. There could be benefits to such a friend, beyond what we had already accomplished together. "Cute," I replied finally. "If you want to check the bandage..."

His eyes shifted, his voice all business. "Oh I intend to. Later."

Working out how that was going to happen in the midst of camping in the Orlesian wilderness with his Chargers was going to be interesting. But, Andraste's tits I loved a challenge. 

Ahead of us, Skinner whistled a warning. I reared my mount, mimicking the actions taken by the other Chargers, and waited while Skinner pulled back from her position to join us.

"What did you see?" Krem asked.

"Templars rouges," she replied, flashing fingers on her hand in a silent count to eighteen.

"We should split up--Ir arbelas. I'm sorry." I blushed, embarrassed I overstepped my bounds. This wasn't my team. I wasn't their commander.

Krem made light of it. "Eh, it's a good plan though. You've got great instincts. If we split up, we can flank them or have a better chance at sneaking by them. 

"There's only one issue I see. If the goal is to sneak by," I said, tilting my head at Dalish. "Those assholes burn out hot and fast, but, their senses are undeniably more acute. We need to be drained."

"I'm not a mage," she whispered, her eyes round at my suggestion. 

"I know. Neither am I, remember?" I pointed to Stitches's saddlepack. "You got any magebane in there?"

His tone called me stupid. "I'm not going to let you poison yourselves."

I held out my hand. "You don't have a choice. We are outnumbered. I could drain us with a spell, but this close to them is a risk that they'll sense the spent energy. Mix the bane with the blood lotus, and give us two vials."

Strategies and options played out in the light that danced in Krem's eyes. His jaw set. "What do you want to do, Dalish?"

Her too wide eyes searched for some duplicity in mine. "Trust me, Lethallan," I said, in my most persuasive voice. "It'll taste like ass, and we may vomit when we come around, but it'll get us safely by those goons."

Krem shook his head. "Say it doesn't work, they see us anyway. We'll be down two fighters when we need you most."

"That's the risk." I turned to Rocky. "But between your grenades and Grim and Skinner's wicked accuracy with arrows, We'll actually stand a better chance with the element of surprise than you think. And they still won't be able to track us by mana."

"How would we bring you to?"

"However you wanted." I shrugged. "It's the lotus that will keep us under, not the poison. A bucket of water or a lightning rune, or just let us sleep it off."

"You've done this before?" Dalish asked.

"More than a few times. I wasn't always a warden. And Orlesian templars can be right twats with Dalish mages."

"Your call then, Dalish," Krem said.

"What would Bull do?" she asked.

Krem snorted. "The Bull would tell you to man up and he'd buy an extra round just for you."

Her response came quick. "Then hand me the bane. Let's get this over with."

Stitches held onto the vial as I reached. Our fingertips touched, but it was a cold gesture made more intense with the dark scowl that marked his mouth. "The void has no fury," he hissed. "If Dalish isn't whole at the end of this. I. Will. Kill. You."

"I should hope so," I said, snatching the vials. "Dalish, drink the lotus first. It takes the bitterness from the bane."

"Bottoms up!" she toasted and drained both vials in two heartbeats. 

"Cheers!" I replied, drinking. I could hear Krem dividing his team as Thedas blurred around me.

"I'm taking her with me too," I heard Stitches say. "It's best I monitor them both.

I retreated into my lonely headspace, as the chemicals took over. And I knew I'd still hate myself when I came to.


	7. True Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual ASSAULT, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence. Flashbacks. You've been warned. And yes, there's misplaced blame. That gets sorted later.

### Chapter Seven _True Colors_

"We're going to the deep roads?" Anders asked, breaking the silence after my announcement. "Joy. I'm beginning to really hate darkspawn."

As usual, Anders only heard what he thought applied. I shook my head. " _We're_ not going. _I_ am going."

Everyone exchanged looks, even the brooding Howe. Anger hissed in Anders tone. "You can't go without me."

"Because this is about you, Mage?" Nathaniel growled. "Though, for once, I can't say I disagree, Commander. You shouldn't go without a team you _trust._ "

Anders snorted. "Says the man who came here specifically to murder you."

Senechal Garavel's gruff voice silenced them both. "The request was vague, but hardly duplicitous. House Dace is a victim of noble infighting, otherwise I imagine they wouldn't even seek help from us outsiders. The commander won't need all of you for this mission."

"Well, you're not going to keep me from the Deep Roads," Velanna spat. "My sister is still down there somewhere and I haven't killed darkspawn in days."

I sighed and tugged at my amulet, feeling the cord tighten around my neck like a noose. "I anticipate it taking a month, at the most two. While I'm gone, you'll be taking your orders from the senechal. But this is a good opportunity for all of you," I said, switching tactics. "With the crisis over and with things returning to normal in Amaranthine, we can all take some time for ourselves."

"Time for ourselves?" Sigrun cocked her head, her whole body a question mark. "What, like a vacation?"

My look met them all and then settled on the spiteful elf, her green eyes impaling me with pleas and begs not to leave her behind. Her intensity broke my heart. She took everything so very personal, but I couldn't blame her. I was the same, when I returned to the Dirth to find my own clan had vanished without a trace. 

"We all have unfinished business I think. Oghren, you should pay a visit to the nugget." I stretched a hand out to touch Velana's porcelain cheek, willing her to know I understood her fear. "And you can take leave to find your sister. I owe you that. I'd like it if you didn't go alone."

"I'll go with her," Sigrun said, her eyes faraway. "I owe the Legion a death after all. I can't do that from up here."

"Justice can come with us, too," Velanna said. "He needs a new corpse. We can make a fresh one along the way."

The seneschal didn't like the idea. "What good is it if all the wardens are gone from warden headquarters? Recall what happened the last time there were no more wardens in Ferelden?"

I grew irritated. My reasons for going alone were entirely by design, but I knew. I was the only piece holding the puzzle together. If I was gone too long, the others would leave their posts and never return. Not a one of them joined the order with a true desire to embrace a warden's life. They all joined because of me, because of the promises I had made them that thus far had proved empty. And I was hardly the caliber of mentor that Duncan and Riordan had been, the caliber they needed. 

Though Nathaniel Howe...Vigil's Keep was once his ancestral home; if he left he'd find his way back. And of them all, he was the one who truly understood the dark cost of unquestioning loyalty. Of us all, he had embraced his fate and sold his soul to the Wardens. He would be the best of us. Despite my shortcomings.

"Seneschal, send word to Weisshaupt. Our people are on working vacation. They are to report back in two months."

"Commander, I suggest that--"

"That's not a request, Seneschal. I appreciate your counsel, but the biggest hurdle is done. Tell the first warden to send what recruits he can spare to staff the place if you want, and I'll drill them when I return. Oh, and let the crowns know that we are running solo ops across Ferelden and Orzammar." I shot everyone a stern look. "Though if any of you end up in prison, I'd really rather you get yourselves out."

Oghren laughed into a coughing fit, though that did little to break up the gloom.

The seneschal sighed. He was unhappy. "As you say, Commander."

"Now, it's supper time I think, and I'm sure you all have plans you'd like to make. Dismissed." I finally met Howe's dark gaze. I forced a breath, feeling weak in the knees. He was the one I would miss the most. And since his business would likely keep him in the area...

The king could kiss my ass. I was the warden commander, and technically I outranked him. If I wanted to put a Howe in charge of Vigil's Keep, the king couldn't stop me. "Nathaniel, I would speak with you, when you have a moment."

The light in his eyes shifted, but he didn't respond.

Anders, on the other hand, was far from satisfied. He trailed after me. I sensed his anger, his lust. Alone with him, I wouldn't stand a chance again, but I couldn't hide behind my desk forever, using the endless rounds of paperwork as an excuse to be busy. Busy away from him. Something had to give.

Shit got real. Fast.

The door to my office opened behind me with a bang, and slammed closed again. The pictures on the walls shifted from the percussion. I ignored him and continued to my desk on wobbly stems. I had to keep my head. 

"Why?" Anders hissed. "Why do you insist upon pushing me away?"

My heart hammered against my rib-cage. Reasoning with him never worked before, but I had to at least try. "Anders, this obsession with me, it has to stop. This isn't healthy for either of us."

"Obsession?" He spoke the word like it was a foreign concept. The darkness in his face shifted between angst and jealousy. "You think I'm obsessed? With you?"

"Yes." I saw no point in lying.

"No. This isn't an _obsession._ I _love_ you," he said, his voice thick with frustration, and he added with a mutter, "you stupid bitch."

"Charming. This, whatever it is, isn't love." Anger straightened my back, stabled my legs. "This you and me nonsense has only ever been about fulfilling some twisted need. We were both scratching an itch, nothing more. And. It. Stops. Now."

"You're serious?" Anders arms hung at his sides, his fists clenched. "You think I don't know this game of yours? This playing hard to catch--"

"This isn't a game!" I lost it, throwing a stack of books from my desk in frustration. "I'm broken, don't you get that? BROKEN! I've got nothing left to give anyone, least of all you."

"So you have a few little demons." He was relaxing, upping the charm. He thought he was about to win. "Everyone has them. I love the mystery in you. It's dark and twisted, but you also get this cute little wrinkle across your nose when you're called out on your bullshit."

My hand flew up to hide the bridge of my nose out of reflex. He took a few steps closer. "Anders, please stop. Whatever you think is going to happen...seriously just leave me alone. We can talk after dinner." When we've both calmed down.

"You want me to leave you alone. But you want to speak to Howe? He can't possibly love you. Not like I do." I flinched when he grabbed my shoulders. "You want to hear me ask, is that it? You want me to say it?"

I had a headache. "Say what?"

"Don't go?" His voice changed, the edge dulled into a softer, more seductive tone. " Or is it: Please. Take me with you? I love you."

I snorted. "You're so full of shit. Does that claptrap really work?"

His eyes burned hot. "You know it does," he whispered. He brought his lips close.

I twisted. His lips landed on my jaw. "Anders, I've got shit to do. Go away."

"But you're so tense." Another dodged kiss landed on the tip of my ear. "Let's take care of us first. And then we can work out this Deep Roads expedition of ours."

"No, stop," I pushed him off, which was perhaps the wrong thing to do. He thought I was still playing a game. 

"You little tease," he said and he shoved me against my naked desk. His hands were around my waist in an instant, undoing my belt. For the first time in years I felt true fear. Panic flooded my being and my attempts to fight back fizzled epically. My inept struggles only made him harder; his eagerness clawed into my thigh as he pinned me to my desk. "Is this what you want? You want the danger? You want it _rough?_ "

"Anders, stop." I tried to kick, but my trousers merely locked my legs into place. In one horrible moment I realized it was too late. Our dance had gone too far. I should have pushed him off the widow's walk that long ago night. 

I should have let the templars take him in for murder.

His flesh pressed against mine as he shifted for a better grip. "Fire," I whispered with desperation.

The desk erupted in flames that surged through the room, throwing Anders back. I tugged up my trousers and attempted the buckle with shaking fingers. 

A whirlwind of ice smothered the blaze and Anders was back again, forcing my shoulders down to the floor. I scrambled. "Drain," I stated, gripping his arm. 

And I felt his mana surge into my veins, clearing my head like a stimulant. Shock chased all trace of color from his pale skin. His mouth formed words. I pushed myself out from beneath him and bolted for the door.

I didn't make three steps before I was lifted off the ground, paralyzed, in a golden cage, my back arched and I gasped for air.

"Andraste's great flaming ass! What in the void is wrong with you, woman?" he shouted, coughing. 

The door erupted into splinters as Oghren charged through, swinging his beast of a battleax. Nathaniel Howe's sinister shadow darkened the arch in the dwarf's wake, his bow drawn. Anders deflected the first arrow, but the second went through his hand.

My cage collapsed and I slammed to the floor, pain swelling through my knees. "Bloody Stone! You okay there, Bosslady?" Oghren belched. He smelled like a second-rate distillery, but his eyes had never been clearer. 

Anders doubled over, staring at the arrow piercing his hand, as if the idea that it could happen and did happen hadn't quite formed in his mind yet. "You shot me Howe? Seriously?"

Nathaniel nocked another arrow. "Next one goes through your head, Mage."

"Escort Anders to the cells, please." I said, attempting to compose myself. I shook everywhere.

"Cell? Wha--?" Anders was bright with shock and pain. He looked at me. _Finally looked_ at me. His voice shrank. "Commander?"

"What instructions to give the guard?" Nathaniel asked. "Lock him up or dress the corpse?" 

The wildfire in Anders's eyes retreated into fear, acknowledging that I held the power of his future with my next words. It was the most lucid I had seen him in a long time. Free of pretense, he was vulnerable and exposed. For some reason I thought of Ser Pounce-a-lot, the bedraggled kitten we found huddled in the cold, shivering and helpless. No one thought the kitten capable of smacking a genlock on the nose. "He's drunk," I said, finally. "Let him sleep it off." 

"Drunk?" Nathaniel spat. He didn't want to sell that lie to the guards. His finger on the draw was far too stiff.

Anders fell to his knees, his confusion dispelled. "Commander I'm so, so sorry," he whispered. "I just thought--"

"Drunk." I repeated, cutting him off. I didn't want to hear it. "And this incident stays between us, for now." The assault was assault, no matter how it was rationalized, but I really was part to blame. I couldn't hold him responsible for the mixed signals I never intended on clarifying. 

The truth was far more complex. I played with fire. I should not have been so surprised I got burned.


	8. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Content, flashbacks. Remembering first time.

### Chapter Eight _Perspective_

Fingers snapped in my ears. I plowed through my last lotus-induced memories, scattering them like leaves to the wind. My eyes flicked open.

"And you're back." Stitches sat at my side,

I watched the dim light dance in his eyes for a long while before I dared to speak. "Water?"

One side of his mouth curled back. He slipped a hand to the base of my neck to help me rock up on my ass, and shoved a flask in my face. "No, but I've something stronger."

Stronger was definitely better. One sip I took slow, savoring the buttery finish of a decidedly Nevarran whiskey. The next sip was because I liked the burn that coated my insides. The third was pure greed. "Thank you."

"How do you feel?"

I breathed in deep, catching his intoxicating musk and the peripheral scents of pine sap and a nearby waterfall. "Solid." No nausea meant I was given enough time to sleep through the effects of the bane. I looked around. We were atop a rocky outcrop at the edge of a flatwater pond, alone. Two horses only were secured at a nearby tree. "Where is everyone?"

Stitches pointed towards the trees. "Oh we met at the rendezvous. Your plan worked like a charm. We skirted the templars without so much as a twig snapping to alert them. We were close enough to Val Chevin that they all went on ahead." 

"Since I'm not dead, shall I assume Dalish is whole?"

"Dalish is fine. She woke a while ago, vomited, and ate one of Grim's journey-cakes like it was the best meal she's ever had." He paused with purpose. "You and me. We're on our own for the time being."

I brought my knees to my chest and hugged my legs. "Not by accident, I take it."

His face was hard to read but his tone was all business with no room for idle banter. "We need to talk."

My stomach fell like lead. "What's on your mind?"

He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "I learned why you're broken."

I shifted away from the heat of his voice. "How did you manage that."

He tucked some hair behind my ear. "You talk in your sleep you know."

I groaned. "Tell me I didn't accidentally start a fire."

"Why?"

"Because in my dream I hurled a firestorm at...someone."

"At Anders?"

 _Shit._ "Yes. Anders." I suddenly felt like a girl, summoned before the Keeper to explain why I set my sister's hair on fire. "I'd like it very much if we didn't speak of him."

He growled. "Fine." He rolled away to leave.

I grabbed at his arm. "Wait, That's not how I meant to say that. It's simply...It's a mess I dealt with a decade ago. I just don't want you to feel some sort of obligation that you have to fix anything."

"I'm not trying to fix you, Warden." He sneered. "I'm not an idiot. The broken thing? It works for you. It's sexy as the void. But the big shit you can't bury. Rifts are everywhere and there are demons around, in case you haven't noticed, and they feed off that shit. A not-a-mage like you should understand that, yes?"

He had a point. I chewed on my lip, debating. The False-Calling had dragged everything to light again, all the wounds and scars I buried deep so long ago. It was the cruelest twist in fate, to relive such events. "Okay. What if what I have to say isn't something you want to hear?"

"Wow. The friends you've had before really don't know much about friendship do they?" He tapped his ear for emphasis. "Friends listen regardless."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, we're friends now?"

He scowled. "Yeah--"

"I'm only asking because a few nights ago, I was just a patient."

"That's fair." His scowl relaxed. He allowed some silence between us. "Come on, talk to me Warden."

I sucked in a breath. "Anders. Was a mistake. Not my first one. Not my last. But I was so absorbed in my own messed up broken-self that I didn't realize he was broken too. Well, not so much broken as scarred. We were an unhealthy pairing. And one night we came to blows."

"Is that what you call it?" Stitches snorted, and put two and two together fast. "You threw fire at him."

"He tried to..." I suddenly couldn't look at him. I turned to the water.

He growled. "Tried to what?"

My chest constricted. I cleared my throat. "He tried to...press an advantage."

"Look at me." he said, his timbre soft, but firm.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because." Everything within me wanted to burst out in tears and screams. I trembled to contain it all. "If there's anything in your eyes right now that resembles pity or, or awe or anything, I'm going to cry. Or set you on fire. Or both. And I don't want to."

"I don't pity you." He poked my shoulder. "I only barely like you."

I tossed him a scowl, then realized what he was doing, the sarcasm to break up tension, and laughed. "Barely is it?"

"Yeah." He gave me a full smile, though it was short lived. "Look, if Anders--"

"No, stop." I cinched my knees in tighter. "Look, Anders is my fuck up. I am just as responsible for making him who he is as--"

"Druffalo-shit." 

I wasn't expecting that. "Why druffalo-shit?"

His eyebrows knitted together. "Because no one person has utter control or responsibility over another person. That's utter rubbish. You can only ever be responsible for you. If Anders pressed an advantage, it's because he's a jackass that didn't bother to care enough to listen to you. He blew up the Kirkwall chantry because _he wanted to._ He didn't give a shit what his war would do to normal, innocent people just trying to go about their normal everyday lives. You taking responsibility for his actions is a crutch and giving him more credence than he's worth. 

I looked at him with new eyes. He was smoking hot and wicked smart and bloody perfect. "You're right, I did need to talk."

"See? Look, your life is your own. You want revenge? Stupid, but fine, I'll help you bury bodies. You want to hate fuck random strangers? Whatever floats your boat. I'll happily volunteer for that. You want to claim somebody else's seriously fucked up shit? That's when I leave you at the crossroads and go my merry way."

I laughed, my soul feeling lighter than it had been in a long time. "I can work with that."

We shared a long, comfortable silence, watching the stars blink in the sky, passing his flask back and forth. The green scar of the Breach stretched across the eastern horizon like a silk ribbon to tie back the silvery rose of the moon. Even for what it was, and what it represented, the Breach was stunning in its way. Much like the blighted deserts that claimed the lush jungles of the west ages ago. The shifting sands refracted even the weakest light of the stars, so entire expanses seemed littered with a thousand diamonds. 

I closed my eyes and thought of Riordan. We crossed the desert once under such a star-filled sky. The sand, sharp as broken glass, was everywhere, no matter the care we took in setting out the blankets. It was our first mission we were alone together. Love wasn't part of the plan at the start of our endeavors, but I knew, the instant the stars came out in force, that I wanted to give him that which I had refused others. I helped him take off his armor, nervous with the ties, terrified that he would find some unforgivable flaw with me and that it would all come to a crushing end.

But his gentle touch remained. "I've never been with anyone, like this," I whispered, scared and excited and anxious like being consumed internally by butterflies. All that I was--the crippling ache of my heart, the need to be a part of him--laid bare.

"We don't have to." His words were beautiful and patient, a reflection of the honor that infused his perfect soul. "I do not require this of you to love you."

"But I want to. I don't want to wait anymore. I want this to be with you, here, now."

"Then, I am honored at such a gift. But I will only do what you tell me to do. I will do nothing you don't."

And so we gently strayed from our true purpose in the sands, seeking out the secrets of each other. We kissed, hands exploring to the beat of our rhythmic hearts. With growing boldness, I untied the strings of my chemise. The fabric fell away from my shoulders exposing skin that never saw the light of day. We traded requests. _Can I take off your trousers? Can I pet you here? Can I kiss you there? Please touch my waist, my thighs, my breasts. Please use your tongue. Please use your fingers. Please--"_

I looked to the pond. And then at Stitches. He was still watching the stars. I pulled my tunic over my head, a movement that caught his attention. He shifted, angling his head to better watch me undress. Naked, I walked to the water's edge and tested the temperature by dipping in a toe. It was too cold for my desires, so I whispered. "Heat."

I raised a small patch of shallows to a warmer temp and stepped in, delighting in the bubbles that chased across my skin. I lay back against the rise of the bank, water lapping against my collar bone, and soon Stitches was in the water, easing down next to me. "So is this water warm, or are you just happy to see me?" he asked.

"Both." I closed my eyes and moaned as his calloused hands explored the sensitive hollows of my skin, all the peaks and valleys of my landscape. It was easier to pretend with Stitches, his practiced hands massaging and molding, rough and perfect. Aroused beyond all my self control I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him in tight, His hands gripped my wrists, pinning me against the bank, bringing an arch to my back, and we found our rhythm. 

Our first congress had been a bandage, a quick, temporary resolution to a problem a long time in the making. There, in the pond, it was about the need to be with another person, to thrill at physical contact and moan at the release. To be a part of a whole.

I opened my eyes and saw my Riordan in Stitches's dark expression. I was still pretending. I could hate myself later. "Lie to me," I whispered.

"I never lie to my patients." he said.


	9. A Shred of Blue Would Be Denied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex this time. Just a brief moment to heal.

### Chapter Nine _A Shred of Blue Would Be Denied_

The Wardens had a stash at Val Chemin that had not yet been raided. I helped myself and shared with the Chargers. "Payback," I said, when Krem tried to refuse. "The horses must have been cheaper to feed and stable than I was. And I should replace Stitches's supplies, in case you need it between now and Skyhold."

He kissed my knuckles. "It's been a pleasure, Warden. Stay away from the Venatori. They still may be able to manipulate your taint."

"You have my word." I hugged Dalish. "Goodbye, Da'len. Keep the crystal on your bow tuned."

Grim grunted and handed me a whetstone of Celestine Black. I kissed him full on the mouth and he ran away, pink. 

"Happy hunting," I told Skinner as she urged her horse by.

"Vouz aussi," she said.

"Warden?" I turned. Stitches was stoic as ever. "You change that bandage. You get it infected, don't coming running to me."

"I promise Stitches."

I watched them ride from the city gate. They didn't look back. _He_ didn't look back.

What was I expecting? We were friends, just barely and nothing more. Chances were, we would never see each other again. 

Wasn't I okay with that?

The sky was melancholy gray, but in the east, the dimmest green glow pressed against the clouds. A fine mist lingered in the air, kissing my face with memories. The aravels of my clan navigating through the Emerald Graves, where I began my path to the Temple of Elgar'nan. The trees were so tall they kept the damp from rising to evaporate with the sun. My sister tugged at my belt. Remember me, she said. 

Another memory surfaced with a voice and a pair of brooding eyes. _Why does it feel like you're trying to say goodbye?_

"It's not goodbye, not really," I whispered.

"Your horse, Warden," the stablehand said, holding the lead out for me. 

"Grammercy," I said, tossing the lad a copper, and I pulled myself up into the saddle by gripping the mane. Within minutes I was out on the highroad, northbound through the wartorn dirth. The long journey to Val Royeau ahead of me, I did not relish the idea of slaying my dragons alone. 


	10. Howe's Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback scene. No Sex here either. Howe makes a move. The Warden Commander is far from ready.

### Chapter Ten _Howe's Confession_

"Commander," Nathaniel tapped at the remains of my shattered door. "Anders is begging to see you."

I flinched at the apostate's name. I'd have to practice, to unlearn that behavior. Anders was simply one more mistake, one more regret that I would carry with me on my last walk through the deep roads. "I think he's seen more than his fair share of me, for now," I said. Enough for a lifetime. I shuffled through more half-burned reports, not really registering anything I read.

His hand appeared, pressing the vellum I held to the scorched husk of desk. My heart jumped and I looked up from an account of the supply line to meet his dark eyes. "Why?" he asked. 

I swallowed. "Why, what?"

"You said earlier we needed to talk. Why does this feel like you're trying to say goodbye?"

"Because I am? I'm leaving for--"

"--for the deep roads, yeah. You said." Nathaniel held his ground, folding his arms, and judged me with a look. "But you're not planning on coming back. Are you?"

His assessment cut me deep. I shivered. "My plan," I paused, selecting my words carefully. "My plan is to go see what this Dace fellow wants of the wardens. To help how I can. And to return. When the mission is complete."

"Again. That's what you said." Nathaniel shifted his weight to a different leg, and scowled deeper than I thought possible. "But you're hoping you won't come back. Do you not remember why I came here? You think I don't recognize a fool's suicide mission?"

I blinked back my tears and concentrated on breathing normally. "Well, yes there is danger, and yes, wardens go to the deep roads to die. But this isn't a Calling, Nathaniel." The half-truth coated my tongue. It wasn't the taint calling me into the deep. "I'm coming back."

"Then why does this feel..." He looked away. "Send me instead."

"No."

"why not?"

"Because you should be here." I drew a breath to steady my nerves, to no avail. "Your sister is due when? Be here for her. The blight took too much from all of us. Cherish the family you have left." 

"And what if that family includes you?"

His voice was so small I almost missed what he said. I stared, unable to speak, unsure of his meaning. A dreadful silence drenched my office, compressing the weight of my sins against me until I could no longer fight the sickness it conjured. What could I have possibly done to have earned his chivalry? I fell apart.

He bolted around the desk in three strides, taking a knee at my side, close enough that I could smell the lingering soot from the watchfires that permeated his cloak. His eyes were wide with concern. "I have no qualms, Commander. Please, just say the word and I will send a volley of arrows through his nose."

I sobbed harder. My composure weak, I pressed into his shoulder, wanting so desperately to feel whole again. Like I had value. Like a pair of strong arms could really keep all the demons at bay, no strings attached.

Nathaniel hesitated. Then, he sat back against the remains of my desk, and pulled me down into the cocoon his cloak. I held on tight to his chest, the buckles and straps of his high dragon leathers scoring my cheek. I drank him in, borrowing fragments of the strength he offered.

"What you all must think of me," I whispered when my sobbing subsided. "What you must think of me."

"What I think of you? You're joking yes? You're the only person that ever showed me that the power to forgive is a strength, not a weakness. You are my redemption." he said, his voice echoing through his chest. "I came here to kill you, a message to the bastard on the throne that he couldn't take my home without consequence. I decided to become a warden, because I wanted to prove that the order was nothing but a joke that puts traitors on thrones and calls them heroes. But it was your ability to see the potential beyond my misguided hatred that showed me what it meant to find honor in duty and sacrifice. You made me believe again, after I had lost myself to the darkness inside me."

It was the most words I had ever heard out of him in one sitting. A hesitant, unsure hand scooped my chin up, forcing eye contact. He twisted a lock of hair away from my face. The eyes that once looked upon me with such hatred shined in the dim light with something else, something softer. Duty? Respect? 

Love?

Maker, Mythal, Ancestors, Whomever. Not love, please. Not now. I couldn't bear it. "This person you think I am, Nathaniel, she doesn't exist. I'm only a shell of a girl too stubborn to know she died during the blight."

"I'm not stupid, Commander." His tone was without any trace of malice. "I realize there's a dragon inside you you're struggling to slay. I'm trying to tell you, you don't have to slay it alone. I want--"

His voice hitched. The arm around my back trembled. The heat between us was almost too much, rising with tension. I was scared of a confession, of what that could mean to my fragile memories of Riordan, of what that would require of the heart I had severed myself from.

Gravity drew our foreheads together. Over the blood pumping hot in my ears, I could hear him struggling to breathe, as I was. It would be a simple thing from here, a slight tilt of my head and my lips would find his. I summoned my voice. "You want what?"

"I want to follow you," he said, his words coming slow and awkward. "To the edge of Thedas and back, to the deep roads where we are destined to end. To the void if necessary. I want--"

I raised my hand without thought to touch the stubble along his jawline. He met the gesture, his free hand wrapped gently about my wrist. "Nathaniel..."

Too many heartbeats to count swept by as we sat frozen in each others' arms. "Maker I tried to hate you. Then I thought maybe I could just ignore you. But every time you're near...I can't help it. I want to know it would be like to...kiss you," he said. "And have you want to kiss me back."

My heart cracked. I wanted that kiss so badly, but I couldn't tell if it was Nathaniel I wanted, or Riordan. And I knew I couldn't be cruel, not like I had been to Anders, not with him. For Nathaniel, sex would be more than just the physical act and a collision of needs too violent to ignore. "Nathaniel, you are special to me, but my heart isn't free to give you. Not yet. There's someone...he died..."

I didn't push him away and he didn't withdraw. Our lips were still within a breath of closing the distance. His voice came, steadier, tinted with more understanding than disappointment. "I am sorry to hear...I thought it was something...I just--"

A heavy, short stride scraped across the floor at the doorway. Oghren growled into the room. "Commander, sod it, where are you?"

Nathaniel let me go. Flushed I popped up my head to look over the desk. "Wha--?"

"There you are! The Seneschal is looking for you. We've got company. And surprise of the Ancestors," he snarked, "Sparklefinger's is about to do something that'll win him Orzammar's nomination to be the Paragon of Stupid."


	11. A Joining of a Different Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback scene, and the whole point of the Anders/Andras love affair. I needed something to explain to myself how Anders from Awakenings could become Anders from DAII. So yeah, this is it.

### Chapter Eleven _A Joining of a Different Nature_

"Stroud, It's good to see you again." I crossed the hall with eager steps to shake his hand. "I haven't seen you since that day at Weisshaupt. How's Michel? Anthony?"

"They are keeping track of a troubling development in the Free Marches, in part that's why I have come. Clarel seems to be under the impression that Fereldan nobility no longer wants our presence and would not provide support, if asked."

"News to me. The king was all too happy with us a couple months ago. He's got his hands too full with the civil unrest, and he charged us with the darkspawn problem, as it should be. Where's she getting her information anyway?"

"Apparently, her repeated letters to the Arl of Redcliffe, offering assistance to clean up the aftermath, have each gone unanswered." His sharp eyes bore at me. "I don't suppose you would know anything about that?"

I groaned. "It's a long story. She knows she's supposed to send her offer here and she refuses to do so because she hates me."

"Yes, I thought as much."

"Why on earth would she be sending letters to the Arl of Redcliffe and not the King--wait never mind. I just answered my own question."

"You have suspicions?"

"She's bitter because the king was there when the archdemon was slain, and she wasn't."

Stroud nodded. "Unfortunately, I cannot disagree with that theory."

"What's Clarel got to do with the Free Marches, and with you being here?"

"Ah, well, the last report I heard from Michel, their team had stumbled across some darkspawn magic the likes we haven't seen. They said it was akin to blood magic, but more foul in nature, if that is even possible. Fueled by the purest of evil. Clarel dismissed the notion."

I frowned. "Of course she did. But. At face value, I'd agree with her. Blood magic requires more strategy than we have seen in any of the normal roving bands."

"I thought, maybe, with your recent dealings with this Architect--"

I thought on that. "Perhaps. As terrifying as the thought that the two might be connected is, it's even more so that they might be separate incidents."

The seneschal interrupted. "Pardon my intrusion, your grace, but surely this is worthy of our attention. If your intent is to go to meet with the dwarf Dace..."

Stroud looked disappointed, "I apologize. I understand if there is more on your plate--"

I spied Nathaniel slipping in through the door, with Ogrhen in tow, looking grimmer than usual. They waited in the back. "I know better than to cast aside your good advice so readily Seneschel. Stroud, since Clarel seems obsessed with the wrong part of Ferelden, I'm assuming she's not giving you the support you need either, yes? What do you need of me Stroud? Supplies? Men?"

"I was hoping you would volunteer such, though I realize how thin that leaves your camp."

"Nonsense. We've troops enough to handle anything pressing, and in a pinch, the king has promised forces. It's good to have a warden on the throne." Nathaniel signaled to follow him as soon as possible. I stuttered in my thoughts. "Please, make yourself at home, raid our larder and abuse our kitchen staff. Let me see who's willing to volunteer."

"Merci, Commander," Stroud said. The Seneschal caught my look and volunteered to show Stroud to the guest quarters. 

I took a breath and pushed through the main doors to follow Nathaniel and Oghren to the cells. "What's gone wrong?" I asked, my nerves alight.

We crossed the courtyard with purpose. The moon illuminating the mist that clung to the ground. Nathaniel's voice growled in tight bursts. "It's Anders. What hasn't gone wrong?"

We exploded after each other into the holding cells. "What the--?" I brought a hand to my mouth in disbelief. The smell of rancid death burned in my lungs and I fought the involuntary desire to vomit.

Kristoff's rotting corpse, long missing from our nightly meetings, curled in a lifeless heap in front of Anders's cell. Anders launched himself against the bars at the sight of us, and screamed with the voice of two people. "We demand you release us at once. No one will ever lock up mages again!"

His skin cracked and glowed like veins of lyrium in stone. Nathaniel knocked an arrow and trained it on the mage. "No!" I jumped in front of his aim.

"Andraste's tits!" He swerved and the arrow sunk into the jailor's desk. "Why did--?"

With my back to Anders, I whispered to Nathaniel, "He's...joined with Justice. You fire an arrow at them, you're toast."

"Commander?" Anders said, in his singlular tone. "Commander! I did this for you. For us! Justice agreed--"

I spun about, anger arcing across my fingertips. "You did what for me? Turned yourself into an abomination? I would never have asked you to do something so monumentally stupid!"

He looked wholly confused. "You said you loved him. And he needed a fresh body. So I thought, a willing host, a friend--"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I was just trying to get your jealous focus off of Nathaniel. I said you never given any thought it could be Justice. I never said it _was_ Justice."

His eyes snapped up to Nathaniel. "But--but Howe even said, when he brought me dinner, he said your love died, and that's why--"

I flinched. Nathaniel rubbed his face, guilty. _He was just trying to help,_ I told myself. "And you thought he meant _Kristoff?_ He's married, you ass!" I shook from the effort of controlling my rage.

Anders began to glow again, his voice thickening. "Who else could it have been? We did this for you--"

Magic crackled in the air around us. I pulled up my own mana and whispered, "Vacuum."

All of the mana fueling Anders evaporated. The glowing stopped with a scream from Anders. "No stop, what are you doing?"

"Your intent was far from pure, and you can't control a spirit as formidable as Justice, Anders."

"But I'm a willing host. And you love him. And, its an adjustment sure, but we can be together this way. I'm--"

"Anders, I'm done. Done. I refuse to pander to this. If you don't get a hold of yourself I won't wait for the Templars to show. Oghren, go grab the runesmith please. Ask if she knows the best way to keep this thing contained."

Anders pressed against the bars. "No, love, you have to let me out. We can go to the deep roads..."

I marched to the cell, whispering the dedication to Elgar'nan, god of vengeance, the mantra that brought his arcane warriors command of the fade. I shimmered into the spirit plane. Anders was almost too bright to approach. "Justice, Anders should not have trapped you under such false pretenses. He assaulted me, Justice. You know what love looks like. You've seen it with Kristoff's wife. Anders does not love me." I swallowed against the words. "Anders tried to hurt me."

The light spoke in only Justice's deep voice. "This is not his recollection."

"This is mine," I held out my empty hand, palm up. It trembled. "Go on, read me."

Anders's soft hand reached through the bars, and a ghostly finger stretched beyond and sunk into my hand. I closed my eyes and took a breath, reliving the whole memory in my mind. Justice's touch made it real all over again, and when our connection was severed, I stepped back from the plane, collapsed to the stone floor, and wept.

Anders cowered, pressing back into the corner, in silent torment and argument with his possessor. Over and over he whimpered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Nathaniel offered me a hand up when it appeared the immediate danger was over, when my sobbing subsided. Knowing what tells his desire formed, it was hard to miss in his long, lingering looks. His secrets exposed, his eyes spoke volumes now, and were so easy to read.

His unrequited want of me had not diminished. I found his concern for me endearing. Given more time, he could wear down the walls I had so carefully constructed. 

But we were out of time. And the order had demands of us.

"Nathaniel, Stroud needs some assistance, and I can think of no one better than you. I promised to keep you here for your sister, but your skills as a scout are unparalleled and you know the Free Marches..."

"As you command." His expression hardened with duty. "And Anders? Shall I dispatch him for you?"

I remembered Riordan spoke with regret of a mage, an elf, who was somehow cured of her taint. "Wardens do not waste opportunities. We devote everything we can to the destruction of the blight. Would that it was still in the cards to keep someone of Fiona's caliber." he said. "But without the taint, she could no longer uphold our motto."

His words reached out to me as a warning, because my every thought was to allow Nathaniel to quell the monster in the cage. My lungs rejected the air I breathed. _Wardens first,_ I thought. _The mission first._ "Wardens don't waste resources." I shot a shaky look back at the husk of fear still trembling against the stone wall, trapped in the nightmare of his own making. I almost pitied him. "But my anger will not abide him remaining here. If Stroud is willing, he can undertake his penance in the Free Marches."

Nathaniel grumbled. "I'll monitor him for you, but one misstep and I swear I will end him."

The runesmith rushed in with an armful of runes. "Maker's teeth," she swore, looking from Anders to Kristoff and back again. 

I wiped my tears and steadied myself on Nathaniel's arm. "Help me get Kristoff's body out of here. It's time his wife had a pyre for him."


	12. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks. Some plot advancing because, yeah, it's got to advance at some point.

### Chapter Twelve _New Beginnings_

It was sundown when I reached Val Royeaux. Recent rains had washed her clean, and she glittered in the orange light. I made my first stop at the bathhouse, desperate to shed the road from my skin. I bought a new set of clothes from the draper next door. It was hard to get him to focus as I stood on his high-polished showroom floor, dripping wet in nothing but a towel. It served as enough of a distraction, however, that he forgot to overcharge me for being a knife-ear.

The city felt empty without the templars milling around the White Spire or without the chant rising in the afternoon from the Grand Cathedral. Disappointment tugged at my heart. Absent the veneer of faith, Val Royeaux's cruel foundation was exposed. The gallows in the public circle stood out more than the golden lion drainspouts and the sweeping shadesails that stretched overhead. There was to be a hanging, if the whispers were true. Some poor shemlen named Mornay was going to get his neck stretched over a dead house of nobles.

"A warden could save him," I heard someone say as I passed. I paused. _Wardens don't waste resources,_ Riordan had said. A warden could save Mornay, but it would have to be a different warden. I was in no position to conscript anyone.

 _Poor wretch._ I stole an apple from a tree as I headed for the tavern, testing the fates. It tasted sweet, and I laughed, Despite the many legends surrounding the apple trees, I never once had a sour fruit.

A lad in patchwork clothes and with unkempt hair tapped me on the shoulder. The fade glowed in an aura around him, tickling the edge of my own mana reserves. I felt light, happy in his presence. "You can remember Riordan now. The taint cannot take him away anymore, and Anders didn't break you." he said.

"Perhaps not, but I am broken." I said.

"No, you're like iron worked in a forge. Pliant in the flames, stronger for the white-hot fire, tempered when submerged in chaos. That's why the apples are always sweet to you."

I smiled. "Thank you, Spirit. That was kind of you to say."

He shifted, his aura catching the light of the streetlamps and kicking it out in rainbow shards. "You call me spirit? Not demon?"

"With an intent that pure, you could never be a demon. You are not the first spirit I befriended."

"You know." He frowned and fidgeted with the frayed ends of his coat-sleeves. "I am not supposed to let others know. About me. I am sorry, but I have to make you forget me."

Justice was once this bright, this centered with focus and purpose, before Anders twisted him. I nodded. "I understand. Thank you again. I feel much better now."

He reached out to touch my forehead and I closed my eyes with a sigh, wishing he--

I opened my eyes, heady, and my stomach growled. I turned from the streetlamp and took another bite of my apple, breathing free. The air was thick with lavender perfumes and roasting pheasant. The tavern host sat me at a long wooden table with a family of old masks that shifted away when their focus found the points on my ears. Their prejudice didn't bother me, for once I didn't wish to pick a fight. 

Three bowls of hearty stew and four ales later, I tossed a gold coin at the bard and retreated to an inn that faced the Rue des Chevaliers. The cheapest rooms at the back afforded the unwanted view of the city's alienage, and my presence raised fewer human eyebrows there than if I stayed within the market district. The inn suited me, fit me. I, too, walked the fine line dividing my worlds. The elvhen of the cities flinched at the sight of my vallaslin and scurried away from conversation with excuses too weak to be bothered about. Shemlin were too distracted by the tips of my ears to even notice my markings, though their guardsmen kept wary in my presence like prey around predators, perhaps sensing the feral nature of the taint in my blood. But as a warden, I could keep a silent vigilance over them all, lurking around them like shadows, never quite living among them.

I could hear the immortal words of Clarel. _Wardens give their lives gladly for a world that will never thank them._ Her martyrdom oft grated and I was never near her without wanting to rip her throat out three seconds in, but the woman was fierce, passionate about her path, and she wasn't wrong. Wardens did the horrible, despicable deeds so this pretty gem of Val Royeaux and other communities like her could stand the test of time unmolested.

That alone, for me at least, made all of it worthwhile.

Stepping onto the shallow balcony for my room, I cringed at the stale smell of the forgotten and the forbidden. This part of Val Royeaux had little in common with the remainder of the city. The alienage at its best was an overpopulated slum. Whole families of families piled into the miserably small living spaces of the stacked, block apartments. The upper market in Denerim had wider boundaries. There wasn't enough honest paying work to keep the criminal element out of running the streets; forcing elves to turn against their own, like feral dogs fighting over scraps.

I watched from my vantage the mostly empty streets of the alienage, long enough for the moon to shift the shadows to the opposing side. Nothing had changed in the fifteen years I knew her, except that there were no templars on patrol. Then, I was a pass through, a fly-by-night with no intention on remaining. My entire clan was gone, missing without so much as a broken twig to track. Another clan in the Dirth mentioned a Keeper Zathrian whose clan often camped in the Brecelian Forest. "He's been alive for whole ages," Keeper Egalir said. "No one remembers more of our ancient magics than he. If there is a way to find your people, he would know."

That was when, only just eighteen winters, I stumbled into the mud-caked roads of the Val Royeaux alienage, the first I had ever seen, searching for a coach to hire to take me as far as Lothering. I was overwhelmed, paranoia my only feeling. I beat a pickpocket within a breath of his death for an attempt to relieve me of the pitiful gold I carried. The guards tried to confiscate my weapons and a fight ensued. Templars on patrol sensed the magic I wielded and came searching, but at the end of the fight, I had talked them out of pressing charges and convinced them I was not a mage. Riordan approached me after that. "I want to introduce you to someone," he said. "A warden recruiter, in Ferelden."

"What's a warden?" I asked.

He smiled. "I can explain everything on the way, if you're curious."

It seemed a sound way to get to Zathrian at the time. So I struck a deal. If I traveled with him to meet this Duncan, Riordan promised he would take me to the Brecelian forest to find Zathrian's clan.

It seemed an age since I was able to think of that trip without being angry with Clarel. Our last night on the West Road before arriving in Denerim, it rained, and we barely had enough time to set up a tent, which we shared out of the necessity to stay dry.

"I've changed my mind," Riordan said, as we huddled together under the canvas. "I do not wish this life for you."

"You don't think I can do it?" I asked, unable to dispel the shadow that obscured his expression.

"That's not it."

And I felt it, the change in temperature, the anticipation, the fear radiating in our cramped space. He spun a lock of my hair away from my face, his fingers brushing against my neck, hesitant. 

"What is it then?" My breath caught on my words.

"Our journey here took too long and has clouded my obligations. There are many benefits, many decent reasons to be a Grey Warden. But there are many ugly truths that I am bound by the order to keep secret from you...but I don't wish you to endure them all the same. You are too special to me, now." 

I touched his hand. "And what if I feel the same way about you? What then?"

"Then I would give you my heart without reservation," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "We should get some sleep. If you're determined to meet Duncan, we'll leave at first light."

He took to his bedroll, curled on his side, facing away from me. I waited in the dark for a long while, listening to the rain pelt the oiled canvas. Then, pulling him back to me, I tucked myself into the nook of his shoulder and wrapped and arm around his waist. He murmured in soft surprise, but he didn't turn away. The uneven ground poked in my side, but I didn't care. I had never been more comfortable than I was in his arms.

We spooned all night in slumbering bliss. When he woke in the morning, it was without the start I had come to expect in the two weeks of our trip. "You are a good talisman," he said. "My mother's people, Avvaar, they have a word. Shy-gin. It loosely translates to keeping nightmares at bay. That is perhaps the best night's sleep I have had over a decade."

And I knew then that I never wanted to leave his side.

I shivered, wondering what might have been if I been able to control my temper with Clarel. If I hadn't punched her. I would have gone with Riordan, perhaps been captured by Rendon Howe alongside him. 

I might have died, then, too, during the battle with the archdemon. An uncomfortable thought, which surprised me. For a long, long time, to join my love in death was all I wanted. An anointed servant of Elgar'nan, vengeance drove me when nothing else could. Going through the motions of life, instead of actually living.

It was as strange a thing as ever I felt, that moment I realized I wanted to live.

I set my jaw. First thing come light of dawn, I would ride for Jader to board a ship bound for Kirkwall. It was the second time leaving Val Royeaux with an uncertain future, and only the vaguest sense of a plan. If my luck held, Carver received Leliana's missive, and would be waiting for me in the Hanged Man.


	13. Of Boats and Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a scene with Zevran. Because Zevran. Just for kicks and giggles, and since the Warden Commander has to take a boat to Kirkwall anyway, I thought, why not?

### Chapter Thirteen _Of Boats and Crows_

I booked passage aboard the Sunswept Enchantress, a sturdy sort of bark with a Nevarran captain and a buxom brunette for a first mate. They both tried to hide their stares. "We don't see too many Dalish," the captain explained when I had caught them anyway. "Does your tattoos mean anything?"

"Vallaslin. And yes." I didn't offer to elaborate.

"W-what does it mean?" The first mate stepped in front of me, blocking my advance. 

I sighed. "Think of it as a path of devotion to the god of vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Her eyes went round. "That's..."

"Disquieting? I know." I used the most understanding voice I could muster, "But all it means is I was selected by my keeper to go train at the temple with the other stewards. A specialization in swordplay, if you will, like oh, say the ash warriors who mark their war-hounds with kadis, or the chevaliers of Orlais who mark their territory like war-hounds."

The joke made the uncertainty dissolve and their bright laughter bounced of the wooden planking. "That's a good one," the captain said, wiping moisture from his eyes. "I'll have to remember that one." 

The whole truth was far more complex, but few outside The People understood such things. Even my Riordan, who had accepted me unconditionally, struggled to understand what placation my gods required of me. Though he understood better than anyone, knowing the basic beliefs of his mother's clan. Riordan came to the Maker not as a child, but as a young man searching for a bigger world than his small corner had supplied him. 

I wondered at his conversion, what sparked such a change in faith. In my experience, Andrastians did not seem to have the personal connection with their absent Maker, not the way the people had with Silaise and Mythal, June and Anduil. He smiled at my curiosity. "My mother was Avvaar, I was not," he said, as if it clarified everything. "My mixed-blood left me tainted long before my Joining. I found acceptance in the Chantry, and found a family in the Wardens."

"And in me?" I asked.

My question was a tease but he was serious all the same. "In you I found the reason my sacrifice will never be in vain."

The first nights of my travel at sea were calm, but I had trouble sleeping. I tried to convince my weary mind that the motion was the same as the sway of the aravels when they moved across uneven terrain. The wood creaking would have sold the lie were it not for the sounds of water slapping against the hull. 

I kept to my cabin. It was easier that way. The few elves on the ship's crew eyed me just as suspiciously as everyone else. The first mate tried to convince me to go topside for some fresh air. "I don't get seasick," I said. After the things I had seen, a little ocean travel couldn't disturb me anymore.

The third night however, a shadow stole into my berth, silent as the chill of winter. I shivered awake, The presence slipped closer, blending its stride with the creaking of the boat. I counted to three, exhaled, and rolled, throwing my coverlet the shadow's vague direction. As the lump tried to squirm from beneath the cover, I wrestled it to the floor, and retrieved the dagger from my boots. 

The chest I pinned was a broad one, but not overly so. Agile muscles flexed beneath me--a lad's muscles or no...an Elf. I pressed the dagger to my shrouded quarry's neck. "Not a wise thing to do, to sneak up on a Dalish."

The muffled response was an Antivan curse. 

"I'm pulling back the sheet," I warned. "Try anything, and I'll sever your head from its spine."

He was tanned, with shoulder-length blond hair and painted markings that swirled the length of his face. "I see you are quite skilled," he said with an approving smile. "And I have not made the best first impression, yes?"

"Not the best one, yes." He was far too glib for getting caught. I narrowed my gaze, searching for signs of betrayal. I found none. "But I'll give you the opportunity to correct that before I kill you."

"Then, as I am quite fond of my head, I shall not waste your generous offer," he said, still smiling. "My name is Zevran Avraini, Zev to my friends. We can still be friends, yes?"

I shrugged. His smile was definitely disarming. I was losing the desire for blood. "Yes, I suppose we can, though that hinges on what you tell me next."

"Ooh, interrogation time, yes? I am quite good at interrogations. What do you wish to discuss?"

"Some years back I heard of a Zevran Avraini. Something to do with the Crows and the Hero of Ferelden." The dim light looked somber in his eyes. "I don't suppose you and he are the same elf?"

"One and the same, yes." A brief pause was quelled with the return of his smile. "I can regale you with the tales of her glory, if you wish it. She and I were quite close."

"You were hired to kill her, and yet?"

"And yet she spared my life. I thought to myself at the time, I thought Zevran, this day is a good day to die in such a lovely woman's arms, even if those arms are indeed the reason you die. Indeed, I could say that I have met no one so lovely since then, save for you."

"Mmm. Flattery might get you somewhere dark and dangerous. What was your mission here? To kill me or burgle me?"

"Neither." His smiled dimmed with earnest. "I am how you would say, a stowaway. I haven't paid a passage. And you are by far the loveliest of this vessel's passengers, and one with her own cabin, and an elf. I thought to wake you and propose...sleeping arrangements."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sleeping arrangements?"

"Yes. You see, I would like very much to see the Free Marches city of Kirkwall. And. I would like it even more if no one is aware of my going there."

"What crime did you commit and why are you fleeing from it?"

"That is a long story, and one I will happily regale you with, but, I would rather not be pinned to floor beneath you, at least, not with a blanket between us."

"You think I would allow such a dismantling of defenses, do you?"

"Well, obviously not at this particular impasse, no." An eyebrow peaked above his right eye and his voice thickened, flowing like warming caramel or mulled mead. "But it is only fair to warn you, the evening is still quite young and chilly. Bed warming is a particular talent of mine, so I have been told."

"Wow, confidence oozes from you like sap from a maple, doesn't it? Very well. Paint me intrigued." I slipped the dagger back to my boot but instead of rising immediately, I pressed chest-to-chest against him and gripped two generous handfuls of his hair, whispering. "But if you so much as twitch a direction I don't want you to go, I'll relieve you of your precious head."

"Of that I have no doubt." His eyes smoldered. There was no denying the feral attraction lurking like a wolf at the edge of my senses, a Calling of a different stripe. 

Voices stirred from my past again, and I pushed them back with more ease than I had in the previous weeks. I didn't need the danger. Anders needed the danger, breaking rules simply to stave off boredom. For a long time I thought he was right about me. But no. 

The taint corrupted sex the way it corrupted every other base need. Hunger twisted to starvation, thirst to drought, passion to outright lust. There were pleasures still to be found in these violent appetites. 

And now, with this elf stirring beneath me unashamed of his growing erection, I paused, considering the consequences. Could I trust him?

Did it matter?

I allowed him to move once I took up a seat on my bunk. He stood with slow, graceful movements. He was a predator, like me, but without the ceremony, the traditional ties that kept him locked down to a particular place, or a particular people. Memories tugged at me from the fog of my sleep-deprived mind, whispering the description of this elf from the old correspondence left at Vigil's Keep. Thedas shrank by the moment. I pressed my foot into his crotch, against the rock-solid protrusion that proved he was gifted at birth. 

My movement caught him off guard and he murmured with surprise tinting his cadence. I tilted my chin. "Seems a flaming shame to let something so ready go unused. And I was just thinking about how monumentally bored I was," i said, as a current of possibility shivered across my skin. "Tell you what. Show me your tongue has other talent than simply wit, and not only will I let you keep hold of your heads, but I might let you stick one of them somewhere fun."


	14. Familiar Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moving the plot forward, because it's got to go somewhere

### Chapter Fourteen _Familiar Ground_

After a week of isolated debauchery, the Sunswept Princess glided into Kirkwall's oppressive harbor. Zev kissed me goodbye. "I am in your debt, Warden Commander," he said.

I hummed with memory. "I'd consider us even."

"Truly?" He paused. "I think not. I am twice in your debt. Once for being so accommodating. And twice for being so accommodating."

I stepped in close to breathe in his ear. "Well don't say I didn't give you the chance to leave without strings." I teased his earlobe with teeth and tongue and his groan vibrated against my cheek.

I provided a distraction for him, not that he needed it. The way he slipped into the smallest shadows and skirted the crew at the plank impressed me. I lost sight of him after that.

Kirkwall changed in the past decade, but the smells were the same. Desperation infused, perhaps, due to the troubles my wayward apostate warden caused, but the same. The clean scent of ocean and storms ended at the great chains that crossed the harbor beneath the iconic slave statues. The alleys and streets leading from the Gallows through the docks to Lowtown reeked of rotting fish and unwashed bodies. I paused at the defaced statue that once proudly honored the Champion's triumph over the Arishok and prayed to whichever deity was listening--The People's Pantheon or the Maker, it didn't matter, so long as it was answered.

_Please let Hawke be alive and well enough. Please let me find her and bring her home, even if she isn't._

The scar of the Breach held a different mystery at the Kirkwall docs. The city-state was so beleaguered by its most recent and violent past that most seemed to try to ignore it, intentionally turning from any gap between buildings where the Breach could be seen.

I couldn't blame them. Anders had left me scarred too. 

I negotiated the steps to Lowtown, grateful for the stretch of my legs after the days I spent on my back o'er the choppy waters. The rocking of my bed aside, I much preferred the ground beneath me to be solid and reliable, not liquid and tempestuous. My nose alerted me once I crossed into a residential neighborhood. Despite the tired and broken exterior, the apartments were alive with the routine of suppertime. My stomach growled as I identified the comforting scent of baking potatoes and fish chowders. 

It smelled like Amaranthine did, before the Architect's war with the Mother smeared its taint against the walls. 

I grabbed the wrist of a street urchin as she tried to relieve me of my purse, and scared her witless. She scrambled and stumbled and flopped about like a fish on docks, and cursed in bastardized elvhen all the way back to the alienage. I laughed. I was too hungry to be angry at her ill-fated attempt.

"Ain't seen you before. Lonely Love? I'll even let you call me Shemlin." A buxom redhead made her trade known with a flash of her ample cleavage.

"Apologies, but I'm spoken for." I lied. A tumble with a walker wasn't going to resolve my loneliness for more than a few fleeting moments. Zevran had proven that during our romp. Besides. Food first. I reached into my purse and tossed her a gold piece anyway, before pointing off to my right. "Hanged Man is that way, correct?" 

"Easiest money I'm making tonight." She giggled and smacked the side of the building she leaned against. "You're looking at the old slum."

I looked up. The sign I expected to see wasn't there, but the facade tickled the back of my memories that rushed back with the odors of stale beer and mystery-meat stew. "Thank you kindly, Shemlin," I said, leaving her to her work.

The door creaked on dry, long-used hinges and opened up to a dank but familiar dining hall. The fire crackled and snapped happily away in the hearth, though the heat couldn't stretch through the entire room. A couple of Kirkwall Guards occupied the central table, some sailors played a game of Wicked Grace in the back corner. A handful of drunks kept Nora busy serving drinks. No one seemed to pay me any mind.

I bought two bowls of stew and a bottle of Nevarran whiskey--no way I was going to trust the swill the barkeep tried to sell me off the tap in the back room. I found an unoccupied table and polished off my meal before I became aware of the lull invading the ambient conversation. The guards had moved, parting, two to take the table by the door and two to take a stand by the stairs, leaving two still taking up space at the center table. 

At least they let me eat before they decided to box me in.

As I weighed my options for a response, the taint in my blood pricked and I could sense one--two tainted others, most likely wardens since darkspawn were rare in Lowtown, edge through the door.

"Wait Donnick," Carver's weary voice crept across the hush. "The elf's okay. She's one of us."

A guardsman with brown hair and a serious expression nodded in response and signaled something to his men. They promptly vacated the Hanged Man without so much as a crooked glance my direction. Nora hurried my discarded bowls away as I grabbed the remainder of my bottle and rose to greet Carver Hawke. The walls seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and conversation flowed back to drowning decibels. 

"Sylaise but it is good to see you alive and well and not buying into Clarel's crazy." I threw my arms around Carver in a tight hug. 

Carver muttered an embarrassed unintelligible something and tried to pull back too soon. Our armors locked together and he stumbled back, dragging me down with him, and clattered against the floor.

I laughed and squeezed his chin where an attempt at a beard was developing. "Now this, this is quite the welcome. If I knew you missed me that much--" I whispered.

"What? No! I..." Scarlet chased perspiration across his panicked features. His hands flailed as if he didn't know where to put them. "All this time and you still--ARRG! Maker's Teeth!"

I unhooked us, in the most teasing, seductive way I could, just to torture him. Carver scrambled up off the floor, flustered and sputtering. I turned my attention to the tainted blood lurking in the shadows blurring the door and my heart skipped a beat.

_Nathaniel Howe._

An unexpected torrent of relief and forgotten emotions seized my chest. I hadn't thought to see him again. Nathaniel's sobering presence emerged into the light with slow measured steps. He had aged some, but despite how icily stoic a figure he cut, I knew what that look meant in his eyes. A decade passed and could not diminish the spark.

He retrieved my bottle from where it had skittered. "Commander," Nathaniel said. I wanted to drown in his deep and quiet voice. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen." I shrugged at the title. "I'm pretty sure I'm not the Commander anymore. I've got something to confess to you, to the both of you, but not out here in the open."

Carver nodded. "The barkeep lent me Varik's suite so we can go there if you like?"

I resisted the urge to tease him again, about inviting me up to his room. It was simply too easy to fluster the lad, and besides, there were a great many unpleasant things that needed discussing.

Not the least of which was the lanky elf waiting in the suite when we opened the door. His markings were like vallaslin made with lyrium, and he pressed me against the wall, one hand raised in the air like an eagle's claw. "This elf knows where Hawke is?" the elf said, his voice booming and forceful, and filled with distrust.

 _The legendary Fenris,_ I thought, remembering stories Carver told over campfires in the Deep Roads a lifetime ago. And he was itching for a reason to rip out my heart.

The lyrium made me heady. My fingers twitched with the overwhelming static energy, a sheer unseeable force that begged to be converted to something active. Nathaniel moved in my peripheral, his hand readying an arrow. Carver braced, looking unsure of which elf to protect. I took a measured breath to quell the tension building in my hands. It would be all too easy to whisper the words, and draw upon the power etched into Fenris's skin and reduce him to a pile of smoking ash. "It's okay," I said to reassure my circling wardens, meeting the piercing green eyes boring into my soul. "Yes and no."

His raised hand glowed bright and hot. "Which is it?"

"She's in the Fade, not the town bazaar, you know," I retorted. "The Fade is not a simple place. It's complex and endless and unpredictable. We're going to need some help just getting there, let alone finding her."

"Bah," he grunted, shoving away from me. "Thank you for wasting our time. I am returning to hunt for slavers. Let me know when you have a serious plan."

I snorted. "Because that's helpful. Are you so proud you can't accept help when it's offered?"

He tossed a scowl back at me, but said nothing.

"I thought as much," I said. I rubbed at my neck where his fingers had touched me, feeling the irritation of lyrium burn still radiating across my skin. "How about we start over, yes? Hello. It's nice to meet you. I trust you're Fenris? I'm Sidona Andras, former commander of the grey."

A tense moment hung in the stale air. I watched his decision wage war in his micro-expressions. "My apologies, Warden Commander," Fenris said, dispelling the tension. His head bowed and his voice softened. "My behavior is...reprehensible."

"I understand. Your loyalty does you credit." I caught the flash in Nathaniel's sloe eyes and spoke my words even. "You love her."

"I do." Fenris sat in an armchair facing the fireplace. "She is a formidable woman. She walked unscathed from situations that would have obliterated anyone else. I--I cannot abandon her until I know for certain she's gone."

"Good. We'll need that kind of grit if we're going to survive what I've got planned."

He cast a sideways glance my direction. "The last warden to take an interest in the Hawke family wanted blood. Tell me, Commander of the Grey, what is your interest in the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Correcting a wrong," I said. "I have done things--"

Nathaniel interrupted, his expression colored with compassion. "Stop. No one blames you."

I shook my head. "After what I've got to say--" I pointed to Fenris, "-- _he_ might. Now then. That bottle of whiskey isn't going to be enough. I don't suppose you know where Varik keeps his good stuff, do you?"


	15. The Fabricated Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback within a flashback...because I'm a sadist

### Chapter Fifteen: _The Fabricated Debt_

When they brought Carver to me at our supply cache, the blighted taint had taken root. He squirmed in feverish tremors and his skin was so pale, so translucent and gaunt, it was a wonder that his arteries didn't burst through with each beat of his thready pulse.

"What in Dread Wolf's name?" I looked to Stroud for an explanation. "Stroud, it is not like you to return far too soon and with a charity case strapped to a stretcher."

"I gave my word, Commander." 

"To whom?"

"Blondie," whispered the lad through chattering teeth, "the Delicate mage-flower." 

"I hesitate to say, Commander--"

"Anders." Anthony was always quick with ripping off the poultice and holding no punches in delivering a prognosis. "Stroud promised Anders."

"Not on your life." I pulled my sword from its scabbard and prepared to run the kid through. "Anders abandons the order and sends this ghoul in his stead?"

"What could it hurt, Commander?" Stroud prodded gently. "Carver Hawke is not long for this world. and we have the Joining stores to spare."

"Besides, apparently we owe Anders," Anthony sneered.

"We? _Owe Anders?_ " I bawked. "That's rich. Do I even want to know why?"

"Loads of reasons, according to his perverted accounting. But my favorite was that we apparently forced him leave his cat behind in Amaranthine."

Just like Anders to focus on the leaving and not the why of it. He was the ass who brought a kitten into the Deep Roads. Ser Pounce-a-Lot ingested darkspawn blood and like a glutton for punishment, I spent three days looking for enough Andraste's Grace to leech the poison out. Delilah Howe said she'd look after it while it mended. Anders could have returned anytime to collect it. But of course Anders never did.

I groaned, and, returning my sword to its scabbard, gave the kid another look. There was still time, though admittedly his chances of survival diminished by the minute. "Fine. It's a very lucky thing for him that Varel taught me the process. I'll prepare the mixture. You prepare the victim."

 _This will be sloppy,_ I thought, as we each set about our labors. _But we don't have time for ceremonies._

The memory of my own Joining burned hot and conjured bile to my throat. I heard the screams of hoard tear at my soul as the poison settled into my blood. I panicked, clawing away from the nightmare, terrified I had become possessed by a demon. Still the screams assaulted me, unintelligible vile almost-words drove away all sense of my soul.

I lived and died a thousand times before I became aware that the hoard retreated with their cries, and the taint I sensed was part of the shems that surrounded me. Riordan was one of those dark souls. He promised he wouldn't abandon me, that he'd be there when I came to. I grabbed hold of the idea and refused to let go, separating noises in my mind until I could make out the familiar cadence of the shemlin I was falling for. Light surrounded the darkness and drew me back to the living. 

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked when I stirred. 

Pain, I thought. Unimaginable pain like starving and suffocating and burning on Shartan's forgotten pyre. I locked onto Riordan's worried eyes and forced a smile. "Unsteady. How long was I out?"

"Two hours." Riordan wasn't fooled by my smile, I didn't imagine any of them were. "But the unsteadiness will pass quickly now. The nightmares on the other hand, will likely persist for some time."

"I don't suppose someone has a bottle of brandy?" I asked. The aftertaste trapped at the back of my throat was going to make me vomit if I couldn't chase it with something strong. "It doesn't have to be good brandy."

From my right, Michel handed me a bottle. "It's not brandy," he said flatly. Duncan helped him stand on wobbly legs. "I'm sorry I drank most of it."

I sniffed at the unstoppered contents and the bile shifted. I forced a quick swallow to keep things down, unsure if I would have to "rejoin" if it all came back up. I glanced at my left, to get my bearings, my blood prickling towards more tainted souls. The other two--Jacen and Ellory--were still out. I took another swig, draining the contents.

"Where's the thief?" I heard Michel ask.

"Stevard did not survive." Duncan spoke with reverence. "Such is sometimes the price demanded. He will be remembered as a Warden though, not as a crook."

I didn't know Stevard well, but he called me a knife-ear when we met and screamed liked a child at the first genlock we encountered when we were sent to get our vials of darkspawn blood. I didn't consider his death much of a loss. The blank look from Michel told me he felt the same. 

Riordan offered me his hand and leveraged my weight as he pulled me upright. He was correct. The pain was subsiding quick. "Would you like another bottle?" he asked.

"Yes please." 

He let me go once I could demonstrate I could stand under my own power, and he pulled a jug I couldn't remember seeing during out trip to Denerim from his journeypack, and the tankard from his belt. "Ritewine," he said. "We consolidate all our leftovers into one bottle. Easier to travel with. An acquired taste." He set both down on the table. "Go ahead. Serve yourself. Drink as much as you need."

"Thank you." I bypassed the tankard and went straight for the jug.

It made him laugh and that was a beautiful sound. "Oh, and before I forget--" he draped a pendant around my neck--" We take some of the blood from our Joining, and we put it into a pendant, to remind us of the sacrifices we made and those who made them before us."


	16. Potential

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and still in the flashback within a flashback scene...

### Chapter Sixteen: _Potential_

"Nothing you said prepared me for that!" Carver said as Stroud pulled him off the floor. He had been at death's door an hour prior. He shook, but his color improved. "That was the worst pain ever and I grew up in a houseful of apostates that played with lightning."

I sighed. Why was I not surprised that the kid had a chip on his shoulder? "Anders sent him to us, you said?"

Stroud was his usual somber self. "Yes. He promised merit and ability. So far, I have seen little of either."

I shrugged. "Well, he was dying."

Anthony scowled. "We should have taken Anders in. Sent him to Weisshaupt--"

"No," I cut him off with a sharp look. I would spare anyone from being sent to Weisshaupt, my own experience shading my principles. "Anders can run and hide all he wants, but we all go to the Deep Roads in the end."

"What? What was that?" Carver straightened, drained, but his color was improving. "What do you mean by that?"

I waived off Stroud. I was the commanding officer after all. It was my responsibility to deliver the bad news. "Look, you were dead from the taint already, yeah? The Joining only bought you a couple decades. The next few weeks will bring you some nightmares, but you'll be able to work past them. Eventually though, the nightmares will return in full force, and you'll hear a song with your very blood that will poison your memories and leech everything you hold dear from your heart. It's the Calling. You'll descend once again into the Deep Roads, and meet your end by taking down as many of the bastards as you can. I will face it someday. Stroud, too. Anthony and Burke here, we all will say farewell to the last of our blue skies and go where the shadows are darkest. Anders too, no matter how much he avoids responsibility, no matter how well his abomination preserves his life, he too will end in a deep, dark, wretched hole."

The fire of hatred and anger flushed Carver's skin. "No one told me this. I was ready to die. I didn't have a choice--"

"Yes you did!" I stepped in his space and cocked my head back to square off to his towering frame. "And your choice was not just to give up, but to MAKE YOUR SISTER KILL YOU. I have had my fill of spoiled martyrs, so can the attitude. You want an opportunity for your life to mean something? To be a part of something greater? Let me give you some advice." I stabbed his sternum with my middle finger. "Don't. fuck. this. up."

He stuttered, stringing a few nonsensical words together before going silent.

"Commander." Stroud's monotone voice carried with it an unspoken warning. I was crossing a line.

I backed off, closed my eyes, and concentrated on breathing. It had been a few months since the Dace expedition, but on top of everything else, the Harvester left me unsettled and raw...Hands down, I would take talking darkspawn any day, whole hoards of them, by myself if need be, over whatever evil creature that was. Junior here had no idea what true sacrifice meant. 

But I wasn't Commander Clarel. Carver might not hear me, but I couldn't browbeat him into submission either. He had to come to it on his own. It was beyond time that I started leading by example.

In a gentler tone, I tried again. "That was rude. My apologies. What I am trying to say is you have a chance to become the hero you want to be, to be revered and reviled. But the wardens are a team. Your ego will only serve to get us killed." 

Anthony hissed. "What she really means is, here is where you say _sorry for being an ass, and thank you for giving me the opportunity_."

Traces of martyrdom still lurked in Carver's voice. "I'm sorry for being an ass. Thank you for giving me the opportunity."

Anthony threw his hands up, surrendering. "Well it was worth a try."

Stroud folded his arms. He was still a hard man to read, but I learned how to gauge when the man was pensive. "What's on your mind, Stroud?"

"I would not have agreed to take him, except that Anders invoked your name, Commander," he replied. "And Anders insisted we would not be disappointed."

"Did Anders insist, or was it the other guy?" Anthony referred to Justice.

I stiffened. Stroud and his team spent mere weeks with Anders before the apostate shirked his responsibilities and fled for Kirkwall. It was long enough, though, for Anders to have overstayed his welcome. Nathaniel's letters had suggested it was a trying and unpleasant time, for all of them. 

"I suppose it matters little, either way," Stroud said with an air of tired resignation. "What is important is that Wardens do not squander resources. He survived the Joining, which is more than some. We need to assess his skills."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Carver whined.

"Fine," I said, drawing my sword and main gauche. "Let's see if that razor strapped to your back is as dull as your wit."

Anthony and Stroud both stepped back, giving us room. Carver looked confused, his head swiveled around as if searching for a punchline. "You want to fight?" he asked. "Here? _Now?_ "

"You got someplace better to be?" I asked, popping tension loose from my neck.

His attitude was still full of piss and vinegar. "Other than the Glorious Deep Roads. Yeah I got someplace better. Kirkwall. My mother--"

"I'm sorry. Your _mother_ what?" I twirled my swords, pulling life into my arms and wisps of energy from the fade. 

He hesitated. "My sister--"

"And now your _sister?_ " I twisted, lining my body up behind my shoulder and centering the gravity that kept me on my feet. "Are you your own man or do you belong to your family?"

"Nevermind." Bravado flashed in his sneer. He drew the greatsword from the scabbard on his back.

It only took a wisp of a moment to size him up. He had an untrained stance. His grip on the hilt was awkward. And his eyes told me he didn't care. Which meant it was going to be an easy fight. I sure as the void wasn't going to let him win. I was done with egos. "Well then, have at."

His reach was meant to keep me at a distance, where he could control or predict my moves. But I fought dirtier than that. I deftly avoided his first two swings, which caught him off-balance. Within two strides I was up close to his core, inside his space where he could neither draw back for a powerhouse blow nor defend his vitals from my lightning fast offense. And he was still off-balance. I toppled him to the ground, straddled his midsection, drove my sword through the space at his armpit and binding the barely exposed shift beneath into the soft earth. 

My main gauche caught him just beneath his chin and drew a whisper of blood, to make a point. His gaze met mine, his eyes too round and his cheeks too pink. I had embarrassed him, but I had also impressed him. The last he expected was a 7-stone dripping wet elvhen lass to upend him.

It was time to cut him even deeper.

"Your stance is weak. Your swing is sloppy. You suck at conviction and follow through. Are you a virgin?" I asked.

The question earned me Anthony's laughter and Stroud's groan. Carver's pink cheeks blazoned crimson red. "What?"

I pushed my blade firmly against his chin, forcing his head to retreat though it had nowhere to go. "It's a simple yes or no question. Or did you not hear me?"

"I heard you." He stammered. "N-no. I mean--"

"No?" I narrowed my gaze. The way he squirmed, was he unsure of his body or of mine? No definitely unsure of my body. He was as inexperienced with the pleasures of flesh upon flesh as he seemed to be sparring. With the opposite sex. "Where are you from?"

He was more comfortable with that question. "Lothering. I mean Kirkwall now, but Lothering--"

I smiled. I knew Lothering: a charming community that was staunchly Andrastian as the most impressive building in the area was its chantry. Wheat farmers brought their harvest to the sail-driven gristmill at the edge of town. The King's Highway brought a steady stream of peddlers and tinkers with a variety of goods for trade. That of course, was before the blight arrived. "So still a virgin," I surmised.

His eyes were as wide as boulders. "N-no. How did--I mean--"

I clicked my teeth. "So you got close. An awkward game of I'll show you mine if you show me yours in the hayloft of her father's farm? You told her you were going to war, didn't you? That it might be the last time she ever saw you. That it was the last chance you had to be together--"

"Stop!"

I paid him no heed. "--Which of course was the truth. Shit hit the fan at Ostagar and Lothering evacuated. Ew, and she probably had a pet name like Peaches or something. But still she managed to thwart your advances." I could see his whole story play out as I had seen it so many times in so many recruits before. "The Blooming Rose is close, but frequented by people you know, not to mention you're flat broke if your empty purse says anything about you, so paying for sex is out of the question. Dockworkers are cheaper, but dodgier. And I suppose living in your sister's shadow while under your mother's leaky roof isn't condusive to companionship." 

The surliness was returning. "I didn't realize my...sex life..."

"It's important. Trust me. There are two things wardens are famous for. Call them side effects of the joining." I climbed off of him and returned my swords to their scabbards. "One is appetite. And the other is...well, appetite. But you're harmless."

The insult forced him to respond. "Am I? I'll show you how harmless I...uh..."

I frowned. That was not the response I wanted, but it was the one I expected. "There aren't many women in the warden ranks, and I happen to be the only female on this particular excursion. So. yes. Your sex life or lack thereof is very important. Virgins believe it or not, have more control over their appetites when they take the Joining than someone who has dipped his wick before. But there's always a risk, when the nightmares come, that the need to find release will be too great to keep under control."

He caught my meaning, and I thought he was going to cry. "No, Warden Commander. I would never=="

"Never ever push for something that wasn't yours to have? Yeah, that's what Anders said too. So if you want to whine about how unfair your particular situation is? Just remember this. We don't trust Anders. And he vouched for you." I folded my arms, and glared at him. "You want respect here? Fucking earn it."

"I understand," he whispered.

"I understand..." I prompted.

"Commander. I understand, Commander."

"Good. Anthony, he's all yours. Knock the rest of that chip off his shoulder, will you? We've still a long road to go before we find Oghren's team."


	17. The Plan, Stage One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And flashback over. Moving the plot right along...

### Chapter Seventeen: _The Plan, Stage One_

Fenris took the news that I was responsible for Anders rather well I thought. "You gave him a chance to change," the elf said. "You cannot control how a person decides to do it."

"Pretty and pragmatic." I said, remembering with sobering detail the first I met Anders. I was too focused on darkspawn to worry about the dead templars, too distracted by Mhairi's unsettling idealism to catch the violent current in Anders's tone. And I was still reeling from the news of Riordan's death to care I was in the company of a murderer. I swigged from my current bottle and counted our collected empties. Three wardens and a lyrium-bound elf made quite the dent in Varrick's private stash. It was going to be expensive to replace. "But in my whole life there are only two decisions I have ever made that I would change in a heartbeat. Anders is one of them."

"And the other?" 

I took another drink, measuring my response, stealing a look at Nathaniel from the corner of my eye. It didn't go unnoticed; he caught my glance over his tankard. He had a new scar above the gristle on his cheek, small, where the whisper of a nocked arrow might have stained a lesser bowman. It was out of place on him. Or perhaps it was always there, a memento from an inexperienced youth that I never bothered to notice before. I chewed my lip. Gods, I was blind, so very blind for so very long, holding onto the pain because it was easier than living in a Thedas without Riordan. I couldn't remember the precise moment when my regrets changed. Anders was still the bane of my existence. But punching Clarel and being stuck at Weisshaupt while my Riordan died alone? When had that regret morphed into _should have kissed Nathaniel?_ "A story for another time, I think," I said at last.

"All the stories tonight, but you have not asked me--" The lyrium in Fenris's skin pulsed as he shifted in his seat. "--it is usually the first question anyone asks."

"You're a former slave from Tevinter. The lyrium skin story tells itself. Besides, I know what it's like to be stared at, and to send people away in fear for their lives with just a glance." I circled my face, drawing attention to the swirls and edges of the patterns long etched into my own skin. "My pointed ears would go unnoticed most days, if not for the vallaslin. It is guaranteed to get me extra-special treatment."

Fenris raised his tankard. "To refusing to hide what we are," he toasted.

"Damn straight!" I Poured some of my bottle into his tankard before clinking the vessels together. Carver followed suit. Nathaniel as always, quietly tilted his drink our direction.

"So what's the plan, Commander?" Carver asked. All three of them had agreed despite my story that I was the commander until Weisshaupt informed them otherwise. And even then, I got the impression that they would tell Weisshaupt to stuff the demotion.

"First, I need to go to the Black Emporium. That stack of bones has a trinket I need."

"That stack of bones offered me money if I promised to have myself taxidermied and willed to him in lieu of cremation, upon my natural death of course." Fenris visibly shivered as if to shake off the notion like cobwebs. 

"He does have rather peculiar tastes."

Carver made a face like he bit into a lemon. "It's Urchin that gives me the creeps."

"I will drink to that as well." Fenris took a healthy swig from his tankard. 

"The second task," I continued, "I'll need a healthy supply of lotus blossom and a dark room free of interruptions."

"Why?" The question came from quiet Nathaniel.

"The lotus is for sleeping. The trinket is for making contact with other dreamers. Oh, and I will need a vial or two of clean lyrium."

It was Carver's turn to ask. "Dreamers? As in the Fade?"

"Yes. There was a rumor that a Dreamer left his Dalish clan for Tevinter training. We'll need his advice on how best to proceed. The trinket should help me focus my dreams enough to find him."

"The Dreamer we know. But you? You are a mage?" Fenris seemed to recoil from his own conclusion. "You carry blades!"

I closed my eyes, trying to find the right thing to say. Carver addressed it for me. "Yeah, she scared the shit out of me the first time I found out. I thought she was possessed, like Anders."

"Another apostate," Fenris growled.

"No," I corrected. "Another Dalish mage sent to receive training to be one of Elgar'nan's Arcane Warriors." 

"There is still little difference," he argued. "You are as much a danger--"

"As apostates are?" I tilted my head and challenged him. "As _Hawke_ is?"

"Careful with the words you say next, Commander." Fenris's hand flared.

"You can rip out a man's heart with your bare hands and you talk to me like I'm a threat?" I challenged him. "Look, the circle argument has been around since circles began I imagine. Some mages thrive with the structured order. Some would do best in the wild taught by their families. Some should be Tranquil and some Tranquil should not be. The People have our own ways, but does that make it better? No one solution is going to be effective for everyone. Life doesn't work like that."

The glow diminished from his hand. "Fine. Answer me this then. What power do you seek?"

It was a trick question, designed to entrap. Any answer I gave, he had a response for and a way to twist it to show an evil intent. "The power to kill as many darkspawn as possible, at least that should be the answer that a warden gives. The power to exact vengeance for all wrongs committed against The People, an answer a servant of Elgar'nan should give. The power to turn water to brandy should be the response of any individual still standing after the horrors I have seen." I remembered Anders words then. _I just want a pretty girl and the right to throw lightning at fools._ "You will choose to believe what you will, I would never think to control you, but listen now and listen well, for this is the only answer to that particular question I will ever deign to give you. I have all the power I never wanted, and a hoard of darkspawn haunting my dreams. There is no other power I would ever seek that would be worth the responsibility I would have to acquire to endure the consequences."

He considered that. "Just know that I will not hesitate to kill you should you become an abomination."

"I'll hold you to that. I certainly would do the same for you."

Nathaniel's expression darkened. He didn't like where I took the conversation, but he wasn't going to question my judgment in front of others. He deftly changed the subject, getting us back on track. "The lyrium is going to be difficult to score. With the Mage Rebellion and all."

I felt the energy of the room shift to Fenris in an unspoken plea. I tried to cut it off. "No, we're not using Fenris--"

"Will it get us closer to finding Hawke?" Fenris asked, surprising me that he was even entertaining the idea.

"Now before you rage in like a charging halla to save his mate, think. it's not that simple." At least, I didn't think it was that simple. Just being near him was giving me a contact high. As a conduit for my dreams? Suddenly, I understood the sheer willpower the Champion of Kirkwall commanded. A mage having sexual relations with a walking font of lyrium and not blowing up an entire city-state was beyond impressive; it was a fucking miracle. "I need measured doses. Controlled doses. Fenris, you're a--a waterwheel without a brake. It would be like sending an avalanche to smother a candle."

Carver grinned. "We could cut off his fingers. Give them to you a piece at a time."

Fenris merely smiled. "You could try, Junior."

"Ah, you two are just adorable," I said, curbing the chance for a battle of wits to ensue. Carver would just lose anyway. "I'm too sober for this sort of nonsense, and I'm no longer in a mood to play well with others. I'm going to call it a night."


	18. An Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a bit of regret...

### Chapter Eighteen: _An Awakening_

I dreamt of wine and Andraste's Grace petals. We crushed the flowers beneath us as we tumbled, a writhing creature of flesh with hands and lips and holes. I panted and purred and gasped while a set of lyrium fingers gripped my neck. My small clothes did not protect me from teeth and tongue, or the broad fingers of another's hand probing, thrusting. Another mouth teased the nipple of my left breast. Another tongue slid a hot trail from my right nipple to my navel. My reached to return favors and found my own groin.

I knew then I was still dreaming, but I refused to wake, My breath came fast and deep and I bit my pillow to keep from groaning. My skin flared with sensation, with heat and lightning until I could no longer hold back the building earthquake. My eyes popped open and I stilled. The darkness around me was a comfort. I could sense the presence of wardens sleeping beyond my walls. No one had witnessed my private lust. No one was there to help me cull my inner beast. There would be no stowaway in a tavern. 

I rolled on my side, only barely satisfied, and drifted back to sleep, dreamless this time, though the remnant of my wild imagination hummed throughout my body with a pleasant euphoria. I drowned in the darkness, void of all sense of the world beyond, until the last vestiges of night passed on.

I became aware of a tainted creature in my room before the dingy light of morning pushed through the window, but I felt out of place. Like I was back in the dorms at the Denerim safehouse in a bunkroom full of wardens and recruits. I was either too comfortable to stir, or I just didn't care to wake. "If you're a Genlock," I muttered, "my sword's in the corner. Kindly take care of yourself."

The response was a small cough, meant for clearing a throat, Genlocks didn't cough. "Commander," Nathaniel's deep voice followed. "I..."

I opened my eyes. He sat in the chair across the floor, arms folded, head cocked to one side. "Aneth ara, Vhenan" I murmured. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long." He yawned and apologized. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why?" I frowned, concerned. "The nightmares haven't started again, have they?"

He shook his head, easing my mind. "The elf--his distaste for mages--I kept hearing noises and I was concerned." He shifted. "I could go..."

"Stay." I propped myself against the headboard. "And for what it's worth, I'm not at all worried about Fenris. He spent seven years in the constant company of three apostates and none of them ended up fed to the templars or dead by his hand."

"He also spent the last year killing every blood mage and slaver he could find."

"Again, as I am neither, I am not scared of Fenris." Silence slipped into the conversation. My heart blossomed under his gaze and my cheeks warmed at thoughts of...what was possible. At least I was still in my small clothes. Had I been naked, it would have been far too easy to suggest something better to do with tongues than talk. I curled into a more comfortable position. "Besides, I seem to recall, you at one time expressed a distaste for mages."

"Magic, yes," he specified, his gaze drifting away, perhaps into his past. "And mages like Anders."

"And mages like me," I added.

It earned me a sharp look. "You took risks perhaps. I was convinced you had a death wish--"

I grimaced, "Yes, that--but you did want me dead when we first met, remember?"

"My grand scheme for revenge was ill-planned and easily thwarted by an elf whom I..." He cleared his throat and the dim grey light shifted in his eyes. "--but you never endangered your team. Anders was always too cock-sure. And I always felt the need to be on my guard as much from him during battle as I did from the darkspawn."

A blush struggled to return. My voice sounded meek in my own ears. "Well, he was jealous of you..."

"Strange that. I was envious of him, for a time."

I found that thought confusing. _Anders?_ The man never served anybody's interests but his own. Nathaniel always seemed much more grounded than that. He was entirely willing to avenge his father's death, even knowing that Rendon Howe bore little to no love for him. "Dread Wolf, why?"

I meant to tease him but I touched a nerve. He rose suddenly from the chair and moved to leave. "You know why."

I lost my ability to breathe, to think of anything intelligent to say. "I--" _Don't go. Not like this. Ir abelas ma vhenan._

His head turned from the door, his hand hovered at the knob, hesitant. He sighed after a long, tense moment. "Your laughter is the most beautiful sound in all of the Maker's creations, and I do not have the talent to make you laugh. He did. Forgive me, Commander, for blurring the lines between rank and relationship."

He left, taking any chance of a rebuttal with him. A decade had passed, what was I thinking? Of course he would have tried to move on. Perhaps he even did. Perhaps there was a girl in Kirkwall or Hossburg who had captured his affection. Perhaps then, my return to his life--had I complicated things unknowingly?

Nathaniel Howe did not remain with Vigil's Keep as I expected after his nephew was born. He purged farther into the Free Marches Deep Roads with Oghren, on his quest to find some lost Dwarven thaig or another. But maybe it was an excuse to distance himself from me, from the memory of me.

Damn Anders and his foolhardy, misguided convictions. Damn Riordan for making me love him too much to let him go when I should have.

Damn me for wanting Nathaniel too late.


	19. Five at Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback scene and a sweet moment between Carver and Merril

### Chapter Nineteen: _Five at Breakfast_

We spoke in circles at breakfast. Carver seemed blissfully ignorant, but Fenris and I danced about in conversation, unwilling to approach the subject of using his lyrium skin. Nathaniel either couldn't or wouldn't look at me. I felt alone in a room full of people.

"Aneth ara!" I looked up, catching Carver's interest form a blush on his cheek, as an elf with dark hair and vallaslin bounced over. She stopped short, her bright expression suddenly dulling. "I'm so sorry, I missed meeting up with you Carver or did--"

Carver cleared his throat. "No, Mer, I missed you. Last night ran late and I--Oh, you haven't met my commander."

She blinked at me. "I'm Merril. Formerly of the Sabrae clan...Is that--" Her eyes flickered, tracing the pattern on my skin. "You are, aren't you."

Carver made room for her on his bench and asked, "Are what?"

"Her vallaslin," she replied before returning to me. "It's been a long, long time since I've seen those patterns. You're a servant of Elgar'nan."

"Andarin atishan, Merril. Yes, I served at the temple to Elgar'nan over a lifetime ago now, or so it feels." I pushed my empty plate aside and leaned against the back of my chair. "That makes me former too. Sidona Andras, formerly of the Chaira clan, formerly of Elgar'nan, formerly the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan..."

"The Chaira clan?" Merril's expression was warm with memories. "I met your clan once, at a Gathering. Or is it the Chalrei I'm thinking of? That was before...well, I couldn't have been more than eleven summers old. Where are your people now?"

_Remember me._

I shifted, uncomfortable, as the memory of my sister haunted my thoughts. I had to commit to the Wardens, go through some training first, but Riordan kept his promise and traveled with me through the Brecillian Forest in search of Zathrian and his clan. The thinning veil and inescapable mist made travel slow, and were it not for the meager height of the trees in comparison, I felt as if I had crossed into the Emerald Graves. 

The clan was well secluded; the signs of settlement hidden with an unnatural perfection. I sensed the bowmen's presence following us a great distance long before someone stepped forward to confront us. Riordan kept a polite, humble stance, still except for slow, deliberate movements when movement was necessary. I stood close as a shield.

"sister, forgive us," the designated speaker said. "We should have come forward sooner, but we assumed you were under duress from the shemlin."

He was a tall lad for our kind, and possessed golden eyes and a black braid that cascaded the length of his back. A string of human ears hung about his neck, a grusome trophy for his conquests. A lesser girl might have been intimidated. I was not. "This Shem is a Grey Warden," I said. "As am I. Which makes him my brother as much as you."

He frowned. For several heartbeats, his golden eyes bounced between us, searching. "Andarin atishan, Grey Warden," he said, finally and signalled for the archer's to be at ease. "Forgive us our wariness, Stranger."

Riordan responded as I knew he would, with quiet strength and respect. I hid my smirk. Having sparred with him, I knew he had skill enough to take out most of the hunting party, had things gone that far. "There is nothing to forgive. I am the trespasser in these woods."

"Passing through?" he asked, I thought hopefully, as some of the party gathered behind him.

"No," I replied. "I have business with the Keeper Zathrian. Would you take us to him?"

"I will, Sister, though he will not be pleased to see the company you keep."

"And I am far from pleased to be treated so coldly by those who profess to be of the People," I hissed with impatience. "So I suppose we're even."

His expression softened. "Ir arbelas, Da'len. You are quite correct. It is very unworthy of me to be so judgmental. You and your fellow Warden are most welcome at my hearthfire."

"Most kind." I whispered as he beckoned us to follow. 

"Will we be staying with him?" Riordan asked, his voice hushed.

"Not if we want to live. That one will slit your throat while you sleep." I didn't much care if the lad heard me. 

Zathrian deigned to meet with us, but only after some insisting from the hunter. I disliked the keeper instantly, the way he sneered at Riordan and tried to shame me over our association. 

"Shemlin do not belong in these woods," Zathrian said. "If he was not a warden--"

"Well he is a warden," I said, cutting him off, "and you will treat him as a brother, or you will face me."

Zathrian's sharp look was meant to challenge me into submission or wound me into backing down, but even if he had found the secrets of our ancestors, he did not face the horde of darkspawn in his nightmares each night, so any fear he might have attempted simply didn't work on me. He could not make me yield without one void of a fight. Riordan, eager to diffuse the situation I was so eager to escalate, touched my elbow. "My presence is distracting his people, Shygin. Perhaps I should--"

I didn't budge, squaring off to the keeper. Superiority dripped from Zathrian's glare off the tip of his sharp nose. "So are we going to have a problem?" I asked. "Or am I going to need to invoke bloodright?"

For a long moment I thought Zathrian might actually try to fight me. After a beat, though, his angular features softened. "Elgar'nan chose his servant wisely, I see. If all your battles are fought with this passion, his investment in you will never have been in vain. Tell me, why have you come, Da'len? Are you recruiting for the Wardens or is it something of a more personal nature?"

"My clan vanished," I said. It was blunt, but I was unsure of another way to say it. "I have tried to track them down for seasons now, unsuccessfully. They have not been seen at any of our usual campsites and there are no signs of their passing through the Dirth."

He frowned. "And you believe I have knowledge of where they might be?"

"Nothing so rhetorical. Rumor is you found the secrets of our ancestors. I hoped you might have a thought on how to locate my clan." I tugged at my ponytail, worrying a tangle free, feeling helpless. "I'm fresh out of ideas."

Zathrian shifted in his stance, his eyes flickering with indecision. He folded his arms and looked away. Suspicion washed through me and my arcane warrior training twitched at my fingertips. Something was wrong, something at the wrong end of Elgar'nan. 

"I am afraid I will not be able to alleviate your burden, Da'len. I have no more insight than you do." He motioned to his first, a blond frail looking waif of a thing that viewed Riordan with a shy mix of curiosity and fear. "Lanaya, our sister here and her...warden companion are to have full run of our camp. They will have supplies, tools, food, anything they might need, within a delicate reason."

"Ma nuvhenen, Keeper," she replied with a respectful tilt of her chin.

"So that's it?" I cocked my head, pissed. He was hiding something, some dark secret lurking in his voice. "You won't help me?"

"I _can't_ help you." His whole demeanor shifted to the sinister. I really didn't like him. "I've heard nothing of Chaira."

And there he sent my suspicions into overkill. I cycled through emotions fast before settling. "You're awfully perceptive for a reclusive keeper. I made no mention of Chaira."

He squinted, but remained otherwise unfazed, and attempted to dismiss my thinly veiled accusation with softer words. "It is the nature of Elgar'nan's servants I suspect, to see conspiracy in all things. You wear your clan in your speech, Da'len. Now if you'll excuse me. There are other matters that require my attention."

The First acted as an extension of Zathrian's brush off. Her arm swept to the side to avert our attention. "Come, Master Varathorn has a few supplies we can spare."

I watched Zathrian retreat into his aravel, the fury of Elgar'nan filling my chest. We, the People, we were supposed to be above the pettiness to which the Quick Children oft yielded. Zathrian knew something, that much was obvious. He held a secret, possibly even the secret that could help me find my people, but he guarded that knowledge as if it would reveal another type of secret. Perhaps he hadn't discovered the immortality of our ancestors, as the other clans believed. Perhaps his extended life was due to more malevolent magic, _blood_ magic. 

He wouldn't help because he feared I would expose him. That I would judge his reasons and find him unworthy. 

I realized in that moment how far I came from the People. I no longer shared their struggles. For better or worse I had aligned with the shem dominated wardens, and somehow that plight seemed all the greater a cause to champion than the concerns of one race. Blights effected everyone regardless of their homeland or disposition. Wardens accepted everyone regardless of their homeland or disposition to fight the blight. 

The truth was, I had let go of the hate. Shems were no different than the People. Ugliness existed in both sides of that equation. The key to understanding belayed in finding the beauty. I had found Riordan at my lowest, and he showed me what any Shem had the potential to become. And Zathrian? He had just showed me what any of the People would be if they forgot their purpose.

And beauty, wasn't that worth fighting to protect no matter the cost? Wouldn't Elgar'nan swiftly champion the cause to erase from existence that which sought to destroy the beauty? I stood with the Shemlin to declare Elgar'nan's vengeance against the blight. Perhaps it was why I was spared when the temple fell. Perhaps that was why my clan vanished. Perhaps these awful things had to be so that I could find my path here. 

I slipped my hand into Riordan's. "I am sorry I dragged you into this. We won't linger."

"I am sorry too, Shygin, that the answers you sought weren't here, but we won't give up. Wardens have extensive resources, and I am still owed a few favors."

"That is sweet of you, but this is where the wall is too great to climb. The keeper knows something, Riordan. He may be the only soul in Thedas who can help me find my people."

His dry humor slipped into his voice. "It is my experience that such deeds seldom go unpunished. His sin is pride, I think, and he will fall to it."

He meant it as a comfort. Of course, Riordan had no way of knowing just how prophetic his comment was. Knowing the ills that later befell Zathrian's hunters though did not bring me joy.

I sniffed, the scent of mystery meat stew slow cooking over a slack fire brought me willingly back from the past. It took a moment before I could summon words. "I may never know."

"Why?" Her eyes rounded as she took a seat on Carver's bench, an intimate distance. His arm wrapped around her shoulders instantly. 

I smiled, allowing the sweetness between Carver and Merril to chase away the gloom rising in my mind. "I lost touch with them when I was sent to the temple. I became a warden after that." 

"My people moved on too." She didn't explain, but she didn't need to. The troubles of the Sabrae clan were known to me. Their fates spread like wildfire among the People, becoming the cautionary tale retold nightly around campfires. 

Melancholy blossomed in my stomach. There were no such tales of Chaira. There were no tales at all. 

It surprised me, as many epic failures as I had, that I weathered so many successes. I failed to find my clan, but I found a family in the order. I failed to be with Riordan at the siege of Denerim, but I lead a victory over the Architect and saved Amaranthine. I fell to the false calling, but not for Clarel's misguided machinations. 

Galornan, my mentor at the temple, once told me I was twice-blessed but thrice cursed, He didn't elaborate when I pressed him for an explanation. "Tomorrow," he said. "I will tell you tomorrow."

Which, of course, was what he always said when he abandoned a topic of conversation, never to be approached again. It meant there were some things in life we were not meant to know, because for a warrior of Elgar'nan, tomorrow was a dream that died upon the rising of the sun, and so never truly came.

In retrospect, I wondered if Galornan wasn't right, about being cursed. Did one have to be cursed by Fate in order to serve her?

"--should be safe enough," Merril was saying.

"Says the elf who didn't know she had wandered into the Vicount's private gardens." Fenris snorted.

Merril brushed it off, unperturbed. "That was years ago, and I haven't been lost in Kirkwall since the Breach. It's an easy landmark to navigate by."

"We are not discussing Kirkwall proper. Darktown is a completely different kettle of fish."

"Eh, not sure it matters anyway, Fenris." Carver squeezed Merril closer. "Between Varik's contacts, my sister's contacts, and Aveline's contacts, we shouldn't be bothered by Guard or Carta."

"True enough." Fenris glowered at the remnants of his breakfast. "It is clear that the answers we seek will not be found at the Hanged Man, so whenever you are ready to proceed, Warden Commander. The sooner we start..."

I sighed, flicking a glance at Nathaniel. He nodded into his tankard, his eyes fixed on something that wasn't me. Self-hate soured the rashers in my stomach and I pushed my empty plate further away to rise from the table. "Right. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done."

Merril slipped her hand into Carver's as we filed from the dining hall. They parted ways with a passionate kiss that was sweetly awkward and at the same time, comfortable. Their insecurities were perfect for each other. 

I never in a million lifetimes, thought I would ever be jealous of anything related to Carver Hawke. Years ago I had a love so perfect, I willingly lost myself in him. I knew the joy of being together, the ache of being apart, the pain of losing him altogether, and the peace of letting him go. Yet there I stood, a breath away from Nathaniel Howe and all I wanted was to slip my hand into his and have him pull me close. "Ready, Junior?" I prompted, sounding bitter in my own head.

Carver didn't seem to notice. He turned from his retreating love, attempting a look of determined stoicism that didn't completely extinguish the flush of sloppy romanticism. "On your order, Commander."


	20. Antiquarians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Black Emporium proves fruitful in more ways than one...

### Chapter Twenty: _Antiquarians_

"Urchin!" the skeleton croaked through his speaking device from the center of the Emporium. "Urchin! Where have you gone, you lazy thing? It's time for my bath."

I didn't remember xenon having that many limbs. Or maybe I just chose to forget. I swallowed back the rising bile, slipped Urchin another coin, and brought a finger to my lips. "Shh, we really don't need to see that, do we?"

Urchin blinked in response. 

"You weren't joking about him." Nathaniel whispered. He looked ill.

They all looked as ill as I felt. "I may have understated a bit, though," I said.

He snorted as his head swiveled. He drew us all back by forcing a welcome change of subject. "So, just what are we looking for, exactly?"

"An amulet, more Nevarran than Elvhen in design." I held up my fingers, indicating the approximate size by spreading my thumb and index finger apart. "It's about this long. It'll have a hook on one end like the talon from a bird and it'll feel unnaturally cold to the touch."

Fenris scowled. "This place is a mess. It will take us the better part of the day to find what we are looking for."

I thumbed at the skeleton. "We could ask him, if you're in a hurry."

He dismissed the suggestion quickly. "I am not that desperate. Yet."

I hummed agreement and started my search in the dust-covered corner I remembered seeing the amulet last. The pile of trash sported a wealth of new things, mostly benign in nature, or broken beyond repair. I sifted through the pieces and parts, hoping to touch something chilly, and I heard my companions adopting a similar strategy with other boxes of jumbled items. 

After a moment or two had passed, Carver jumped, startled by something at his shoulder. "That statue!" he squeaked. "I think it just...no, I'm going crazy."

"What are you going on about?" I asked, looking up. At the edge of the darkest shadow stood a familiar stone statue of a woman in ancient Tevene garb. I abandoned my box and crossed the room, surprised and eager. "Oh, wow, that's Eleni Zinovia."

Fenris's brow pinched above his nose. "Eleni Zinovia? Archon Hessarian's mother?"

"The very same."

"You are full of surprises. How does a Dalish come to know of Eleni Zinovia?"

"Never mind that." I shivered, remembering Morrigan's icy glare on my first assignment after the blight ended. Whatever Morrigan's plan had been or what it was morphed into, Wardens had no business antagonizing her, especially as the king of Ferelden showed no desire to hunt her down. But her words were kinder than they should have been and I got the distinct impression she was waiting for me. "The question you should be asking is how in the dread wolf's name did Eleni come to be here, of all places? It's not like she can walk."

"But it looks like she could. The detail in that carving is remarkable," Nathaniel said, taking a cautious step forward.

I slid a sly grin to one side of my mouth. "She wasn't carved, Nathaniel. That _is_ her."

_Sidona, the lost child of Andras,_ the statue whispered, causing the lads to step back and draw their weapons. _We meet again._

A throaty crackle of distant voice surrounded the room like a windstorm across the Burning Wastes. "Leave that statue alone! Urchin hasn't had time to teach her the harp yet!"

Trust Xenon not to completely understand what was in his possession. Like when he asked for eternal life but neglected to add he wanted eternal youth as well. 

"She can't hurt you, you know," I said, touching Nathaniel's elbow in passing. "I hope you are well, Eleni."

_Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. I endure._

"Creepy." Carver's broadsword rattled in its frog as he returned it to its sheathe.

"Agreed," Fenris said, taking another step back. "My former master would have found her fascinating."

_Leto once, a slave in competition. The boy forever gone now a wolf in search of his prey and his mate, and forgiveness._

Fenris growled. "Shut her up."

"Fenris, shake it off and give her space, yeah?" I said, reaching deep for my own patience. There were a million questions I wanted to ask of her, if she would even deign to answer them. "How are you even here, Eleni? The last I saw of you was in the circle tower in Fereldan, years ago now."

_The man Hadley thought to bring me home, though I warned him of his doom. He abandoned me when his burden became too great. I was purchased for Carta coin._

I looked about, grateful Hadley had given up. Tevinter might have betrayed her long ago; they didn't deserve to have her back. The Black Emporium was a safe enough place for the time. No uninvited soul ever made it beyond the traps at the Emporium door. Still, I was uncomfortable with her there. "Are you safe here?"

_Worry not for me. Long is my sentence. I shall witness shadows and light, vengeance and mercy, and still shall I stand._

Carver shook his head. "We are seriously doing this? Talking to a statue?"

"Yes we most certainly are," I said. "Eleni, I could use your guidance. I assume you know why I am here?"

_A Champion lost while Hope is waning, a prison of her own making._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Carver asked. 

I shrugged the tension loose from my shoulders and tackled the puzzle. "It's good news of a sort. Hawke is still alive. The prison of her own making...the Fear Demon is using her fears against her."

"Hawke's alive?" Fenris asked. "That thing is sure? Hawke is alive?"

"Eleni Zinovia is incapable of lying, Fenris. This was her punishment because she spoke the truth to a powerful magistrate who refused to hear it." 

"Does she know if we will succeed?" Carver asked. 

"That we will not ask--" I spoke before Eleni could, "and that question you will not answer. I have no desire to know if we fail."

Eleni whispered, _cast out your fears and ask what you will. That which I have seen will come to pass, but its shadow cannot harm you._

It was not her nature to comfort or soothe, but my nerves settled. I cleared my throat and my thoughts. "I am looking for a dreamer's key. I knew there was once such a trinket here..."

_A key for many uses. There are two that survive within your reach._

Fenris threw his arms up. "Bah, this is getting us nowhere."

I signaled him back. "Just let me handle this, all right? Please continue, Eleni." There was silence. I fought against my impatience. "You said there were two keys?"

_Find the one to find its mate. Both you will need. Search the corpse of the guardian of Arlathan._

"Thank you. There is also the matter of lyrium."

_You have what you require and time is your enemy, not mine._

I exchanged glances with Fenris, troubled. I had hoped for an easier solution than Fenris's lyrium skin. Still, Eleni responded poorly with abject rudeness, and it was my concern, not hers. I thanked her and risked another question. "Have you anything else, Eleni?"

Another block of silence filled the space and I thought briefly, that I had overstayed my welcome. _All that is hidden and all that you seek, all these shall you find with time. Goodbye, Child of Andras. And hello again._

I hoped that was a good thing. "Goodbye, and thank you Eleni."

This time the statue fell silent and remained so. The Emporium felt darker without her words. I promised myself that I would find her a new home, a secure one. For all she had witnessed past and future, she did not deserve her fate. 

Nathaniel turned. "Search the corpse of Arlathan?"

"Guardian of Arlathan." I inspected the chamber with new eyes. Next to a standing mirror was a dried husk of a tree troll. I pointed to it. "Varterral."

Fenris snorted a dry, humorless laugh. "Hawke traded that chunk of carnivorous tree for a ring that belonged to her mother."

"What's that hanging from the thorn there?" Carver squinted.

A hooked amulet, more Nevarran than Elvhen in design, formed tiny ice crystals on the surface of the varterral. Relief washed through me. The key was still here. "That, gentlemen, is what we're looking for."

"Good," Fenris spun about for the door. "I have spent more than enough precious time in this shithole to span an age of lifetimes. What Hawke's obsession with this filthy dump of refuse is I will never understand."

I paid Urchin for the dreamer's key, a fair price all things considered, and fell in behind Carver. I cast a glance at Nathaniel in passing. "You coming?"

He looked up from the Box of Unanswered Correspondence, his usual stoicism replaced by a wash of emotion. There was a stack of vellum in his broad hands. "I'll...catch up, Commander, by your leave."

He was formal and distant. I wrangled my trifling insecurities under control, nodded, and let him be.


End file.
